


In the Dark

by jaxington



Series: Long Shadows [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Spoilers, Thor 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-01-06 17:17:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 192,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaxington/pseuds/jaxington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dreams are of great import, or so Loki claims.  Hers are dark.  With no light there are no shadows.  To Eleanor, dreams are just dreams, some brutal and terrifying but she always wakes up.</p><p>Sequel to Long Shadows.  Loki, Eleanor, and the events of Thor 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. O Come, O Come

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go. Round two. There will be spoilers, pretty minor for the first few chapters.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1st beta by Heather  
> Final beta by Erica
> 
> Thanks so much my dears!
> 
> And thanks so much to YOU for reading!

“You look miserable.”

“I am not.”

“Liar,” Eleanor whispers in the ear of the God of Lies. 

His answering scowl makes a few old church biddies extremely uncomfortable and Eleanor gives them a sarcastic, mocking smile and wave.  They hurry into the sanctuary, a place Eleanor really would rather not go.

It’s been nearly thirteen years since she walked through that stone arch and looked at those stained glass windows that always made her feel so small.

Being back here at the same old church with the same old people is proving an extremely surreal experience.  Childhood memories she spent years suppressing are now back with a vengeance.

In her discomfort she can’t even properly enjoy the absurdity of seeing Loki, Prince of Asgard, God of Mischief, loitering awkwardly in a small town church, on Christmas Eve.

“Ellie Tate, as I live and breathe.”

“Holy fuck nuts,” Eleanor mutters at Loki.  “This is going to be painful.”  And then the shiny, big haired, fake smiling woman is upon them.  “Katie McGrath.  Hey.”

“Look at you, girl!  Back in Mount Airy for Christmas,” says Katie McGrath.

Eleanor didn’t particularly want to come back to Mount Airy for Christmas, but after years of seeing her family at Laura’s in New York or hosting the holiday herself in the ridiculous house Loki built them two and a half years ago, it seemed like time to return to her childhood home.

It’s been hard, staying in the same house and remembering.

She agreed to come home for the holiday.  Church and seeing the people of her past were never part of the deal, but here she stands, warily studying the sanctuary where she first learned to sing.

It’s been years since Eleanor even thought about her ex-boyfriend’s loud sister, but here the woman is, all grown up.

“Yup,” says Eleanor.  “Back.”

“How long has it been? Ten?  Fifteen years?”

“Twelve years, ten months, six days but who’s counting?”

“You look incredible, Ellie.  Age much?  Jeeze, you’re making the rest of us look old!” says Katie McGrath, self-consciously patting her perfectly curled pale red hair.  Her laugh is shrill and Loki sighs heavily.  “Seriously, you look exactly the same.  Except the hair.  Is that your natural color?  Pretty!  So, what’ve you been doing with yourself for these last ten or fifteen years?”

Eleanor blinks, surprised when this particularly verbose blast from the past actually wants an answer.

“Oh! Uh…” She glances at Loki.  He looks particularly murderous and will be no help at all.  “Music.  I’m at the University of New Mexico now, working on my Masters in Performing Arts.  Piano.”

“Not singing?  Really?  That seems strange.  I’m married myself.  Three kids.  Rascals.  Wait, I thought your sister said you were doing research for some clean energy thing?”

“Uh, I was.  I am.  Just part-time now.  Since I started the whole college gig a couple years ago.”  Feeling awkward and young, she glances over her shoulder at Loki.  He has no sympathy for her plight and is barely managing to contain his laughter.

“My brother is here.  That’ll be awkward, huh?  I think he’s already in the sanctuary, but he’ll still be just thrilled to see you, I’m sure.  All that nastiness is in the past.  Oh my good golly, who is this giant, gorgeous fellow?”  Katie McGrath takes a second breath, goggling up at Loki.  “Hello there, handsome.  I’m Kate.”

She sticks out her hand.  Loki regards it as if it smells foul and looks to Eleanor, gauging her reaction.  She raises an eyebrow, indicating that she does not care if Loki snubs the woman standing before them.

Loki crosses his arms over his chest.

“Germs freak him out,” Eleanor explains.  Loki snorts.  She pokes him in the side with her elbow and does a very bad job faking a smile for Katie McGrath.

“Right,” drawls Katie McGrath, eyes narrowing.  They were never really friends and there is nothing more to say.  “Well, better get in there.  Don’t want to be late for Christmas!  We should do lunch.  Catch up for real.”

And she’s off.  Eleanor relaxes slightly.

“There will absolutely not be any lunch,” hisses Loki in her ear.

Eleanor thoroughly concurs.

It would be different if her hometown were a city where anonymity is easy, but Mount Airy is really not big and the community around this church is even smaller.  The people here are the same, but something about seeing them aged up a decade and a half is disconcerting.

Eleanor had no desire to see the townsfolk at all, but when she tried to use Loki as an excuse to skip Christmas service he just smiled and said he would be “amenable to anything.”  Eleanor was unable to stand up to the combined pleading of Laura and Maureen without Loki in her corner.

“Why did you let us come to this?” Eleanor mutters as they continue to stand by a wall, looking at familiar faces milling about the entry area.  Her head flops sideways to rest on his shoulder as she watches those who pretend not to watch her.

So far Katie McGrath was the only one brave enough to actually say hi.  Eleanor is thankful for her reputation as a crazy person.

"You did not wish to attend this event?" Loki asks.  He blinks at her in confusion.

"Fuck no."

More glaring from church biddies.  Eleanor mouths an apology and huddles a little closer to Loki.

"I will be forced to sit through this dribble for naught?" he hisses. 

"I knew you were not _amenable_ to this shit," she whispers.  "What's the deal?"

"I thought it would please you.  I thought you were only saying no to please me, so I sought to please you instead."

"Please me?"  She regards him with suspicion.  "That's remarkably selfless."  

In the years since he decided not to fight the bond that forces him to atone for his crimes, he has these strange moments of niceness that just do not ring true for Eleanor. It’s rare, but on occasion he is just _too_ nice, as if he is still making amends for the fact that he briefly considered killing her to end the power Odin holds over both of them. 

More likely he is up to something.

Loki is eternally up to something.

"Anything for my songbird," he whispers in her ear.  Eleanor rolls her eyes. He captures her hand and twines their fingers together.

"We should really go in."  Eleanor looks down the aisle to see Maureen turned around in a pew, giving that significant look that means Eleanor is late and Maureen is annoyed.

"Must we?" he asks.

"We must."

They do.

Eleanor slides in next to her family.  Loki slides in next to Eleanor, looking hilariously uncomfortable and out of place in his ridiculously expensive suit. He lays an arm over the back of the bench, a hand resting casually on her shoulder.  It makes her feel safe.

Even tucked away next to her family, Eleanor is on display.  She's a huge spectacle.  To these people she is the crazy adopted girl that turned into a whore that essentially killed her father, tried to kill herself, and then ran away after landing in the loony bin.

If only they knew the rest of it.

This must be how Loki feels when SHIELD or the Avengers are around.

She hasn't been the person they think they know in a long time, but being back here makes her feel so insecure.

The last time she sat in these pews it was to say goodbye to her dad.  The funeral itself is a blurred memory, distorted by grief and depression, but she remembers how it felt to lose him, how it felt to sit in this church and know that she was responsible for his death.

As if Loki can feel her vulnerability, he pulls her a little closer and drops a kiss on her temple.

The sermon is nice.  Eleanor doesn't pay much attention to the words, instead letting the familiar syllables warm her like comfort food.  So much of her youth was spent here, and Eleanor remembers what it was like to have faith.

It’s a warm memory, a direct contrast to those of her father’s funeral.

But then Loki is gaping at her and Laura is poking her side, nodding towards the pastor. 

"Ellie?” he says.  Eleanor marvels at his lack of hair and the lines around his eyes.  When did everyone get so old?  “We don't mean to put you on the spot here, but would you care to do a number?  Like the good old days?  I think I speak for everyone when I say we sure did miss your voice."

Eleanor blinks, too stunned to move for a moment, but then she is nodding and scrambling to her feet.  Suddenly her dark green dress is a little too tight and a little too short, even with the thick black tights covering her legs.

"Um, hi," Ellie murmurs into the microphone as she pulls the guitar strap over her shoulders.  "Nice to see y'all."

Oh, the accent is slipping out.  Loki is certainly going to have something to say about that later.

She can't manage to look at the congregation so she closes her eyes as she plucks out a few chords and sings _O Come, O Come Emmanuel._ It's her favorite Christmas song and her voice reverberates off the high ceiling. 

After a verse the whole congregation stands and joins her.  She stops playing the guitar altogether and keeps her eyes closed. There is something moving about all those voices joined together without the clutter of instruments. It’s been a long time since she had faith in any of this, but the moment feels sacred, like being forgiven.

By the end her cheeks are wet. 

She nods in thanks when she finishes, suddenly realizing where she is and who she sings for. She practically sprints back to Loki.

He looks a little stunned, but puts his arm back around her shoulders.

"Beautiful," he murmurs with enough awe to be appropriate for Christmas. 

* * *

 

After the service people socialize over orange juice and donuts.  Far too many approach Ellie as she loiters in a corner with Loki, waiting for her family to finish with the chitchat so they can flee.  It seems her singing broke the ice.

A few people hug her.  A few people ask where she's been and what she's doing.  She gives the same canned answer about college over and over.  Some gush over Loki – introduced again as Luke – but he makes many uncomfortable with his expression, a combination of boredom and loathing. 

Everyone seriously seems to love her singing, but it’s not enough to make this experience sufferable.

"This is fucking ridiculous," Eleanor says in Loki's ear after braving an unbearable catch up with two of her high school teachers who seem to have forgotten how much they hated her back in the day.  "All the attention is making me twitchy."

"You did not lie when you told me that nothing could be worse than all the world knowing your name," he muses, referring to a long ago conversation in a dank, dark bunker.  “And such curses are unbecoming."

Eleanor sighs and stares at Laura's back as if she can convince her sister it's time to go with the power of her mind alone.  "I—"

The snarky comment gets swallowed up by her shocked squeak when arms that are certainly not Loki's wrap around her from behind.  She's lifted off the ground and Loki freezes in place.  It's been awhile since he's tried to break her one and only command, but he's certainly fighting it now.

"Holy Toledo, it's Ellie Belly in the flesh!"

She wiggles, trying to turn around.  He sets her down and turns her with hands on her shoulders.  When she looks up into that familiar, jovial face, she can't help but smile.  The memories rush back followed shortly by the guilt.

"Danny McGrath," she murmurs, feeling shy and a bit sick.

"Ellie Tate," he says, grinning from ear to ear.  He's a little wider and has more facial hair, but he's still the boy she once knew so well.  "I always forget that you are a natural blond," he says, tugging on a stray curl.  "To me you will always be that spunky little brunette."

This conversation is weirdly similar to the one she had with his sister before church, but also a billon times better.

And a billion times worse, too.

“Yeah, I haven’t dyed my hair to match Laura’s in a really long time.”  Eleanor nods and doesn't know what to do with her hands. Things get awkward. 

The smile falls from his face and she can almost pinpoint the exact moment that he remembers.  After nearly fifteen years, the pain is still there for him, but she doesn't feel anything at all, except lingering discomfort and guilt.  The return of the apathy scares her, and she wants to be alone with Loki.

"So, long time," says the boy she once loved.

Eleanor nods.

"Where have you been?  How have you been? I heard from Laura that you are working for the government out west?" Before Eleanor can summon an answer, a little kid with russet hair just like Danny's launches himself at the man before her, hugging his legs.  "Hey there, kiddo."

"This is your son?" she asks, unable to hide her shock.  The little boy is a reminder of what almost was.  Before the shit hit the fan, Eleanor was on track to marry Danny McGrath and have his ginger babies.

It feels like a totally different lifetime.

"This is Danny," says Danny.  He probably goes by Dan now that he's a decade and a half older.  "Danny?  Can you say hi to my friend Ellie?"

The answer is apparently no, because the little boy takes off, colliding with the legs of a pretty woman with dark hair across the room.  She glances at Eleanor with narrowed eyes.

"Is that Heidi Faust?" Eleanor asks, gaping.

"Heidi McGrath now."

"Wow, good for you, Danny," she manages. 

"Thanks."  The boy that Eleanor once loved as much as anything rubs the back of his neck.  Even after all these years she recognizes the gesture as one borne of nerves.  He stares intently at Eleanor for a long moment before glancing over her shoulder.  When Danny’s expression turns to terror, Eleanor remembers Loki. "So is this your boyfriend?" asks her ex-boyfriend.

Eleanor nods as Loki's arm slides around her waist.  He holds her close but she's too nonplussed to pay attention to his jealousy.

"Fiancé," Loki replies, extending a hand.  Eleanor raises an eyebrow as the two shake because that certainly is new.  They are not engaged but Loki is somehow managing to look slightly less homicidal, although not much.  "Luke."

"Pleased to meet you, Luke.  I'm Dan."

This is so beyond surreal.  Why is Loki lying?  She can’t even really believe he said the word fiancé.

Why is Eleanor even surprised that Loki is lying?

There is a ring on her left hand, a good-sized emerald surrounded by diamonds and all woven together in a braided gold band.  The style is certainly more Asgardian than Midgardian.  She’s never seen it before and in no way put it on her finger this morning.

"Good for you, Ellie.  So how long have you two been together?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.  He looks oddly protective as he looks Loki up and down, but the God of Fake Engagements has a solid six inches on her ex.

"We first became acquainted nearly five years ago, but did not start a relationship until three months after," Loki says, suave and charming as usual. 

Eleanor actually snorts.  Of course Loki counts her kidnapping as the start of their relationship.

"Wow, almost five years, huh?  Back in the day, Ellie and I were together for around that."

Loki's eyes narrow and his lips curl into a cruel smirk. His hand caresses her hip and Dan notices.

“So, what do you do?  That’s quite an accent you got there, Luke,” Danny says.

The conversation is becoming more hostile and Loki is moments away from going on some sort of how-dare-you-address-me-puny-mortal rant, so Eleanor intervenes.

"Well, it's been great to see you, Danny," she says with false cheeriness.  "Happy Holidays.  We really must be going."

It's a Christmas miracle that Loki lets her drag him away.  

* * *

"You're going to make us have a conversation about this, aren't you?" Eleanor asks as she watches Loki pacing around the parking lot.  She’s freezing, but waiting by the car is much preferable to subjecting either of them to more small talk with blasts from her past.

"A conversation about what specifically, my dear?" he replies, yanking at his tie.  His fingers fail to pull in the right spot and with a sigh Eleanor crosses the distance between them, reaching up to loosen the knot herself.  His angry movements calm slightly under her touch but she can still feel the tension in his long, lithe body.

"Don't you ‘what’ me. You know what."

Loki bats her hands away and scowls down at her.

“I’m sorry for dragging you to this,” she says.  “I guess we’ll just consider it part of your punishment.”

"He was your lover," Loki murmurs.  Jealousy Eleanor can handle.  She sees his jealousy whenever Steve is around or Thor acts a little too familiar or whenever anyone - be they male or female - looks at her a beat too long.  Jealousy she knows how to deal with, but the sadness she hears in his voice is disconcerting.

"He was my boyfriend," she corrects because this is less creepy and more accurate.

"When?"

"Oh, from ages thirteen to like, seventeen?” she replies, squinting as she tries to remember.  “It didn't end well." 

Danny was collateral damage of her most self-destructive period.  And he tried so hard to save her, but she was determined to burn it all down. In the process she cheated on him, berated him, and broke his heart.

"You regret no longer being with him."

"No."  She cracks a smile because the thought is just so absurd.

"I see regret in your face, Eleanor.  Do not lie!"  Despite his anger, she reaches out to touch his chest.

"I regret the way it ended.  I was terrible to him and I hurt him.  Then I just disappeared without even explaining anything.  He deserved at least an explanation."

"He deserves nothing," Loki spits. 

“Whatever.  It doesn’t matter.  It’s done.”

He is basically pouting and Eleanor examines the ring, attempting to tug it from her finger.

“Uh, honey?  Is there a reason I can’t take this off?”

Quicker than she can blink, Loki turns her around and pulls her back against his chest.  One arm holds her around her waist while his other hand wraps around her throat, tilting her head to the side so he can whisper in her ear.

"Is there a reason you would like to, Eleanor?"

She tries to explain that a fake engagement ring is going to freak out her family, but he is extremely distracting.  She’s never given much thought to engagements and weddings because it all just seems so damn trivial compared to the magical bond that won’t let them ever be more than a few miles apart, but now is certainly not the time start thinking marriage. 

He is touching her, warming her up despite his chilly temperature.  How is she supposed to think of anything at all?

“Eleanor?” he whispers in her ear, fingers slipping under her scarf to brush along the column of her neck.

“Huh?” she hums, her eyes flicking shut.  When his hand tightens its grip on her waist, she shivers. 

“Is there a particular reason you would like to take off the ring I so generously bestowed upon you?”

“No,” she replies, not even totally sure what they are talking about at this point.  He sways slightly behind her and she sighs in contentment. 

“Then by all means, continue to wear it.”

She remembers the ring.  Somehow she manages to open her eyes and study her left hand.  “It is pretty cool looking,” she admits.

Loki kisses her temple.  “Merry Christmas, my dear.”

Eleanor laughs because the words are unnatural coming from him.  He hugs her close to his chest and her family emerges from the church, finally ready to go home.

* * *

“God, she’s cute,” Eleanor says in baby voice, nibbling on Nora’s little foot.  “How do you get anything done with all this cuteness around all the time?”

Laura grumbles under her breath as she battles with some unwieldy wrapping paper.

“Yeah, she ain’t so cute when she doesn’t sleep for twenty eight straight hours,” declares Laura.  She glances up at her daughter, smiling softly  “Okay, you’re right.  Going to work and leaving the kiddies sucks.”

Eleanor blows a raspberry on her niece’s belly. 

“Is this weird for you?” Laura asks.  “Being home for the first time in what, fifteen years?”

“Thirteen,” Maureen corrects.  “It will be thirteen in May.”

“I’m here now,” Eleanor murmurs.  They don’t want any more of her apologies.  She’s spent years apologizing and it pisses off Laura, so Eleanor keeps the guilt for herself.  “And I’m not going anywhere.  Well, for a few more days at least.”

“Thank you for coming to church and singing for the congregation.  I know you hate the attention,” Maureen says.  Maybe visiting this place for the first time and singing at church is her own way of continuing to make amends.

“Well, I don’t mind the staring so much as long as singin’ is involved,” Eleanor replies, kissing Nora’s chubby little cheeks. 

“You sound so North Carolina right now!” Laura exclaims.  “And you talked to Dan.”

Eleanor winces and nods.

“He’s the music teacher at the elementary school,” her sister explains as if Eleanor asked.

She didn’t.

“All according to plan,” she mutters, looking at her niece.

“Just the wrong girl,” replies Laura.

“Don’t.”

“Come on, you’ve got to think about how different your life would be if—“

“If what, Laura?” she snaps.  “If my family didn’t lie?  If I wasn’t a half freaky alien?  If I aged properly?  If what?”

Laura rolls her eyes, undeterred by Eleanor’s irritation.  “Just if things were different, is all.  Seeing him with the kid and the wife and all has to make you wonder.”

“I don’t wonder, Laura.  Back off.”

“I know you are happy now, even if I don’t get how it’s possible given your situation.  But I am happy that you are happy.”  Laura puts her palms up in that universal gesture of surrender.

“But?” asks Eleanor.

“But, don’t you ever want a normal life?”

“Normal is overrated,” Eleanor replies.

“But it is also steady,” Laura says.  “Normal is also good.”

Eleanor smiles.  “Life feels normal.  I have school.  Loki has his research.  We go home at the end of the day and visit family for the holidays.  Does that really sound so different from your precious, normal life?”

But Eleanor does not think for one minute that it will last.  Sooner rather than later, Loki’s going to get bored.  And a bored Loki is a dangerous Loki.

“My boyfriend isn’t a mass murderer,” Laura says.

“No one’s perfect,” Eleanor says, except to her Loki feels perfect, despite all his glaring flaws and mistakes, maybe even because of them.

Laura lets out a disgusted huff.  “So, is it still boyfriend?  Or is it fiancé now?”

“Neither of those words seems accurate,” Eleanor replies.

“Ellie—“

“Quiet, Laura,” Maureen murmurs.  Eleanor realizes for the first time where her own tendency towards quiet came from.  Maureen is also in the habit of using only as many words as are absolutely necessary.  “Leave your sister be.  Let’s finish up this wrapping so we can eat.”

Eleanor’s never been more thankful for her mother’s remarkable acceptance of Loki. 

* * *

Her God of Jealousy is particularly silent during Christmas Eve dinner, indicating that he heard every word of the conversation between the sisters.   He is also probably still stewing over the run-in with Eleanor’s high school sweetheart.  But as they eat, he seems to let go of his tension, bit by bit.

Eleanor’s nephew, Eli, babbles about Santa during dinner, and Eleanor leans over to kiss Loki’s shoulder over the layers of his dark suit.  She lingers there, staring until he makes eye contact.  He relaxes slightly when he sees her rueful smile.  When he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear Eleanor knows that he understands this silent apology.

Throughout the evening Eleanor is amazed by Loki’s lack of apparent irritation.  This is the first real Christmas she’s forced him to celebrate and he is braving the whole thing remarkably well.

He smokes cigars and drinks scotch with Henry, Laura’s husband.  Sitting as far from the fire as possible, he puts up with Eleanor’s Christmas carols, accompanied by her horribly off key nephew.  The faint expression of distaste that crosses those divine features as he’s pulled into a family photo next to the tree is endearing rather than threatening.  When Eleanor kisses him under the mistletoe he finally sees value in their “archaic mortal traditions.”

The kids set out cookies and carrots for Santa and his reindeer before bed.  The adults drink more.  Loki is the only one unaffected by the scotch and wine.  When Laura is too intoxicated to notice, Eleanor turns off the fireplace, allowing Loki to finally relax.

“Look what I found.”  Henry emerges from the basement, battered old board game in hand.

One look at the title has Eleanor giggling like a loon and Laura gaping in horror.

“Risk,” he reads. “The game of global domination.” His smirk makes Eleanor laugh even harder.

“No way,” says Laura.  “That’s like offering an addict a drug buffet.”

“What?” asks her husband.  Even after all these years, Laura refuses to tell him the truth about Eleanor’s significant other.

“Nothing,” says Laura, making Eleanor sigh.  “Let’s play.”

So they play. 

The game is old and contains only enough pieces for four players and Eleanor insists on teaming up with the God of World Domination.  Loki ignores her admittedly unhelpful suggestion that he hold Africa at all cost because it is her favorite continent, instead starting in Australia, building up his armies to march north.

Although Eleanor’s strategic input is wholly ignored, she gets to roll the dice for every battle.  “You bring me luck,” he murmurs in her ear.  “And this arrangement removes the temptation to cheat.”

Laura gets freaked out by Loki’s intensity but then falls asleep as the God of Risk strikes up an alliance with Eleanor’s mother to reduce Henry to three territories before turning on her as well.

Four and a half years since Loki’s army failed to invade, he achieves world domination.  Little green plastic men fill up every continent.

* * *

“I conquered the realm,” he says, closing the door of her childhood bedroom behind them.  It’s a bit surreal, seeing him here, but his presence is an absolute necessity.

“ _We_ sure did,” she corrects, pulling his button up shirt from his pants.  “You really should have gotten the whole conquer, conquer, conquer thing out of your system this way the last time around.”

“I very much doubt the Chitauri would have found satisfaction in such a hollow victory,” he says.

Eleanor nods and kisses the corner of his mouth.

There is no need for them to go through this once more.  They’ve discussed his semi-brainwashed, totally ill-advised attempt to make the whole world kneel.  He isn’t exactly sorry but he would not do it again if he could go back.  It is enough for her, even if it isn’t for the Allfather who has made no mention of Loki’s progress in years.

But he also hasn’t given Eleanor a hard time for being terrible about punishing his son, so they consider themselves lucky.

“We conquered the realm,” she says again.  “We, as in, the two of us.  We are a team, remember?”

She works at each button as Loki smirks, eyes roving her figure even though she is mostly hidden in the odd-shaped Christmas sweater Maureen knitted when Eleanor was twelve.

“What is the Midgardian saying?  A primate could have contributed as much as you did to this supposed team with ease,” he says.

When she drops her hands from his abs he actually pouts.  “Are you calling me a monkey?”

“Perhaps.”

Her expression makes Loki snicker.  When he captures her face between his hands, Eleanor fights a smile but still refuses to look at him.

“Eleanor, I am a god among men.  Would I truly debase myself by lying with your species’ unintelligent ancestors?”

At his serious tone Eleanor is unable to contain her laughter.  Loki walks her backward towards the twin bed and when she stumbles he wraps an arm around her waist, lifting her off her feet and making her giggle.  She is tossed unceremoniously on the bed and Loki crawls over her, caging her in with his body.

“What is this?” Loki frowns, his hands fisting in the excessive fabric of her poorly constructed sweater.

“It’s Christmasy,” she whispers, taking a moment to study the sharp angles of his face while the ridiculous garment distracts him.

“No self-respecting monkey would be caught dead in such attire,” he declares.

Eleanor crosses her arms over her chest to keep herself clothed.

“Eleanor,” he huffs.  As he glares down at her, Eleanor just stares back, blank and patient. 

Loki blinks first.

“You are no monkey,” he says, sighing.  Eleanor beams at him.  “What you are is a revelation, but much more important, you are mine.”

Satisfied with his response, she lifts her arms, heart racing in anticipation as he rids her of the sweater.  While she prefers not to speak, his gift with words leaves her stunned and breathless and smiling like a fool.

“Revelation?” she squeaks as his lips find newly exposed skin.

“Oh yes.”  Through the thin lace of her black bra, Loki’s teeth close on her nipple, making her squeak and giggle.  “You are so beautiful, my sweet, sweet songmonkey.”

“Are you drunk?” she asks, laughing again.

“Please.” He rolls his eyes.  “Drunk off you, perhaps.”

His humor and light mood delights Eleanor.  It’s Christmas, so she allows her thankfulness to fill her up.

Despite the bizarre and sometimes unhealthy series of events and decisions that brought them here, she is so very thankful to have Loki.  And he touches her, making her body sing in a way that only seemed possible in this world of music before him.  But this is Loki.

Just Loki.

The possibility of this disappearing terrifies her.  It would be so easy for either of them to ruin it.

And eventually, he will probably be the one to ruin it.

“Maybe all that board game conquering wasn’t a good idea,” she murmurs, fretting suddenly because one day this life will bore him. 

When his hands and lips stop moving against her, Eleanor curses herself for failing to just enjoy the moment.  When Loki slowly raises his head from her chest he is smirking again.

“The only realm I have any desire to rule is laid out before me,” he says.  The husky tenor of his voice makes her shiver and Loki’s lack of nudity suddenly seems like an unbearable travesty. 

So she unwraps him like a Christmas present and tries not to wake the kids with her groans as they move together in the dark.

 


	2. Grads of Rock

“Midgardian travel is exhausting.” Loki moans into his pillow.  He pulls the blanket over his head and Eleanor yanks it right off again.  “Never again will I set foot in such a repulsive death trap.”

“An airplane?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then I guess we’re never going anywhere ever again because I hate that freaky teleportation thing you do,” she replies, leaning down to place a kiss between his shoulder blades on her way to the bathroom.

Loki snags her wrist, rolling to pull Eleanor back to bed.  She squeaks and ends up sprawled over his chest. 

“Is the university one of the places we will never again go?” he murmurs in her ear, fingers digging into her side.  Eleanor giggles.  She tangles fingers in his dark hair.  He wears it shorter now, just long enough to pull back if he so chooses, and Eleanor likes its slight curl at the ends.

“We have to go.  Break is nearly over and I have classes to plan.  Plus, I am sure Jane is going crazy without you.  She’s on campus waiting for us.”

“I care not for the needs of Thor’s woman,” he says, closing his eyes and settling down as if going back to sleep is an option.

“You can call her by her name, Loki,” Eleanor scolds.  “You know you like Jane as much as I do.  And she isn’t Thor’s woman anymore.”

“I like you only,” he says. 

Her heart always breaks for him when he says stuff like this.  It’s a choice of course, him not liking anyone else.  He still feels the need to protect himself this way and it makes Eleanor so sad.

But he really, truly likes her and that is certainly something special.

“Five more minutes,” she says, cuddling a bit closer.

“Ten.  Jane can wait.”

It ends up being closer to twenty.

* * *

There is a second thing here on Midgard that Loki really, truly likes.

Eleanor is the first, obviously, but the University of New Mexico is a distant second.

Education is not so highly valued on Asgard, and Loki loves to learn just for the sake of it.  Simply knowing all there is to know is a life’s joy for her god.  Although he has zero respect for modern human culture, he deeply appreciates the sources of knowledge held by the university.

As someone who barely finished high school, Eleanor found the whole notion of higher education completely overwhelming.  College was Loki’s idea, something he started pushing for not long after the whole thinking-about-her-killing fiasco.  She agreed to take a few music courses and here she is, working on her master’s.

Not that it’s really a master’s.  Loki faked transcripts to get her out of all those pesky core and prerequisites – much to Jane’s dismay – allowing Eleanor to just do music, music, music.

Eleanor packs all her classes into Tuesdays and Thursdays, as does Jane, so they still spend plenty of time at the donut-shaped lab at the Stark Complex.

Even if Loki much prefers campus to the lab.

Technically, he’s a university employee, a lab assistant to Dr. Jane Foster – a title no one would ever dare utter in his presence – but Eleanor has no idea what he actually does with himself every Tuesday and Thursday while she’s booked up and Jane is teaching.  He seems to have read his way through at least half the stacks.

To Eleanor, he's thriving here, even if he can't see it.  She's not naïve enough to believe that their quiet little life will last.  Loki won't be content with the simplicity and the Midgardianness forever, but she will enjoy it now.  They were both in need of some serious rest, but the three and a half years since she brought him back to New Mexico doesn't feel long enough to Eleanor.

Loki has probably been using their years of peace to plot something horrible. What she'll do when he ruins it is beyond her, and as peaceful as things have been since Loki thought about killing her a couple of years ago, it taught her a lesson.

Loki’s always plotting something.

As they walk through campus, he keeps their joined hands in his pocket, knowing that she gets cold in a way he doesn't. Campus will remain nearly deserted until next week when classes start up again.  Eleanor will enjoy the empty campus while it lasts, too.

"I prefer this place devoid of the loud, reckless youths you spend your time instructing," Loki muses.  Eleanor smiles and nods her agreement as Loki leads her through a courtyard to the science building. 

From down the hall they can hear eighties rock blaring from the general direction of Jane's office.  The ruckus makes Eleanor smile and Loki groan.

"I almost find myself preferring the hovel that is your false family’s home," he mutters.

Eleanor rolls her eyes and makes him walk a little faster. 

Jane is at her whiteboard, writing frantically.  From the condition of her office it looks like she's spent more than a few solid days here.  Her hair is pulled back into a greasy ponytail and she keeps pushing her crooked glasses up her nose.  She vibrates with excitement, singing off key even as she scribbles out complicated formulas.

The university had a last minute staffing issue at the beginning of the school year and with Eleanor and Loki here half the week, Jane took the position.  Why she is working here over break, rather than the much fancier lab at the complex is a mystery to Eleanor.

Eleanor suspects that Jane also took the position because the Bifrost project is winding down and she has no idea what she’ll do with herself next.

"Interesting," declares Loki, stroking his chin as he reads Jane’s work.

Jane spins around. "Loki!  Oh, thank God you're here."

"No need thank me," Loki replies. 

Eleanor really regrets teaching him that particular joke and Jane lets out a frustrated little growl. 

"But, look!  I would have called while you were away but Darcy forbid it.  Loki—“

"I have eyes, Jane," he replies with a weary sigh.  "I can see.  When?"

"Five days ago."

Loki is striding towards the mess of a whiteboard as Jane shoves papers in his face and talks a mile a minute.  Eleanor only understands every fifth word, but this is typical.  She could easily rattle off complex music theory for hours – as she is forced to do in the one undergrad course she has to teach – but when they get all sciencey, she feels like an idiot. Loki stopped even trying to explain his work with Jane years ago.

“I hate that I’m not in the lab right now.  Why did I even sign on for this professor gig?  We are so close.” 

Jane is groaning. 

Loki is grinding his teeth.

“We are not close,” he snaps.  “Or did you forget the most recent directive from your Director Nicholas Fury?”

Fortunately, Jane is used to his prickliness and continues to babble.

Six months ago they had a major breakthrough, nearly fixing the bridge, but SHIELD decided to hold off at Loki’s suggestion that they continue working to find a way to control who comes through from the Midgardian side. 

Apparently, this was super offensive to Thor who took the whole thing as a slight, and after some pretty loud fights he went back to Asgard furious, never to be seen since.  The worst part for Thor seemed to be Jane agreeing with Loki that yes, the mortals should have some agency over the bridge that brings aliens to Earth.

Eleanor often catches Jane watching the sky with longing.  Loki gets the same sad look, but he is much better at hiding it.

"Hi, Jane," Eleanor calls, grabbing a trashcan and filling it with deteriorating Starbucks cups and other wrappers from the vending machine.  Eleanor is totally cooking dinner tonight.  Jane needs a real meal.

"Hi, Eleanor," Jane replies, not even glancing up from her scribbled notes.  "Missed you."

"Oh, I don't think it was me you missed." 

Loki may still privately refer to Jane as “Thor's Whore”, but that's mostly for show.  At the very least he has a deep respect for her intellect.

Eleanor sighs as the two of them really launch into it.

"I'm going to the studio," Eleanor declares when she gets bored.  Jane waves absently, but Loki straightens and frowns, crossing the distance between them.

"Shall I come?" he murmurs, reaching up to cradle her jaw.

"No.  Jane needs you."

Loki scoffs.

"And I know you'd rather be doing whatever the hell this is than watching me plan lessons," Eleanor says.

Loki gives her a begrudging nod.  "I will check in.  No more than two hours, Eleanor."

His typical over-protectiveness makes her smile and she kisses him quickly before waving at Jane and exiting the cluttered workspace.

With each passing year the maximum distance allowed between them gets a little longer.  Now they can be over two miles apart.  The new space is rarely utilized with the exception of their time on campus.  After having him so near for so long, Eleanor doesn't like leaving any more than Loki does, but their life now requires it.

In another year she’ll be finished with her masters and part of her dreads the end of her education.  The Allfather shows no signs of declaring Loki rehabilitated, even if he’s been weirdly silent on the punishment front for the last couple years, and she wonders where they'll end up next. 

A bored Loki is a dangerous Loki, but it doesn't seem likely that working with Jane will keep him interested forever, especially with them so close to completing their work with the Bifrost. The future nags at Eleanor endlessly, despite Loki’s apparent contentment with their current situation.

Maybe she’ll get her doctorate.  Or her fake doctorate, anyway.

But for now she'll focus on the semester.  Between the undergrad class she's teaching and her own performance and theory work, she'll have plenty to keep her mind occupied.

Still, this fragile peace they've managed to scrape together does not feel nearly as permanent as she'd like it to be.

* * *

When he locates his songbird exactly two hours later she is alone in the dark, sitting with her legs crossed in the very center of her rehearsal space.  Three instruments hover a few inches from the ground, encircling her with music.

The guitar, the fiddle, and the mandolin all play seemingly of their own accord, while Eleanor’s fingers pluck along on the banjo in her lap. 

Her improvement in the last few years since they started these magical music lessons has been slow and her natural magical ability is mediocre at best, but she is ever a determined little creature and the hours she is willing to spend in practice is admirable.

Now Loki leans against the doorframe, watching her play four instruments simultaneously.  A great pride fills him, not only because her skill comes at his instruction, but mainly because one as extraordinary as Eleanor belongs to Loki in totality.

She is perfection personified and she belongs to him.

He recognizes the melody of the quartet she now plays as the style her beloved old time.  The genre is not a particular favorite of Loki, but this is the music she was raised on. 

During their trip he was given a live demonstration of what Eleanor calls “porch pickers,” and Loki must admit the only enjoyable part of their time away was seeing her so firmly in her element, happily creating music with a group of old men triple her age on a decaying front porch, braving frigid temperatures to do so.

But he prefers her as she is now, using the magic he taught her to create something all her own.  She plays songs like this just as she breathes, nearly without thought and as if her very survival depends on it.  It is how he feels about his own magic. 

Eleanor has not yet mastered the addition of her voice to playing multiple instruments, claiming that singing disturbs her focus.  It may take years more for her to perfect this magic and sing even as she plays. 

The slowness of her progress pleases Loki endlessly as her need for him as teacher provides another reason for her to willingly stay at his side.

The plot to trick her into loving him has proved extremely successful since he nearly lost her, but he remains discontent.  She smiles at him as she smiled in the vision of the Tesseract, but knowing it is all actually a lie, a manipulation on his part, is painful.  Still, her dependence on him is apparent and this is enough.

He watches her for a few more moments before deliberately allowing his shoes to make noise on the hard floor.  Just as he intended, Eleanor jerks out of her trace-like state and the instruments find their way to the floor around her in a thumping dissonance of sound.

The sharp intake of breath indicates her surprise and Loki attempts to appear innocent as her eyes fly open.  She throws a hand over her chest and he tries not to smirk.

“You do not appear to be planning any lessons for the young and the useless,” Loki observes, slowing approaching her.

“You made me lose focus,” Eleanor says, pouting.  “And you almost broke these shitty school instruments.”

The hand he offers is ignored as Eleanor struggles with the long skirt of her dress but eventually she makes it to her feet without assistance.  She checks on said instruments and Loki follows close behind as she puts each in its proper place.

When Eleanor finally turns to him, she reaches out to fiddle with the end of his scarf. 

“I’m finished,” she says.  “I’m only teaching one intro theory course this semester.  So, I’m done.”

“Do you dread it as you did last semester?” he asks.  His songbird loathes speaking to all but those closest to her, but her pursuit of a higher degree of education requires her to actually teach the cursed youths. 

“Yeah.”

“Then why do it?”  He still does not quite understand.  Even if it was he that encouraged Eleanor to enroll in the university, he would think that she would simply take courses she wants to take and ignore the arbitrary requirements to complete a degree.

“I’m conquering my fear to make myself a better person, Loki,” she says, hands going to her hips.  She is adorable when she scowls.  “It’s called personal growth.  You should try it.”

By the end of her speech Eleanor is smiling and leaning into his chest, her voice gentle and teasing.  He is not one to suffer teasing, but Eleanor – as proves true in most things – is the exception.

“I have grown personally.  For example I was alone with Thor’s Whore for two hours and not once did I feel the urge to shove her out a window,” he replies, resting his hands on her hips.

“Don’t call her that.  And they aren’t even together anymore!”  Eleanor fights to continue scowling, but offers no resistance when he bends to kiss her.

“Can you not work in Jane’s office?” he murmurs after kissing her just enough to make her dizzy and compliant.  It is with great ease that Loki gets his way when she is in such a state.

“Will Jane let me play my guitar?”

“Of course.”  A lie.

“No, she won’t.”

Loki kisses Eleanor a bit more.

“Fine,” she says.  “I’ll hang out until lunch, but then I’m coming back here to practice.  I mean it, Loki.”

He kisses her once more before leading her back to the science facility.

* * *

“So are you going to clue me in on what had you guys so freaking excited?” Eleanor asks when he slides into bed, smelling clean after his shower.  Try as she might to keep her tone light and politely curious, Loki hears the annoyance in her question and chuckles as he rolls, propping himself up on an elbow to stare down at her. 

“Are you cross with me, darling?  Is your absurd and misplaced jealousy flaring up once more?” he asks, delighted by the idea.  He pushes her curls off her forehead. 

“I’m not jealous. Feeling left out when you two talk in a different language is not the same as being jealous.”

On the surface, Jane and Loki do seem more compatible with their gigantic brains, but Eleanor understands him in ways no one else could.

Except when he goes into science mode with Jane.

“Remember to tell me like you are talking to a little kid,” she says when he starts to explain.

“You are not even half a century old,” he mutters.  “Child is apt.”

“Loki,” she says with a sigh and an eye roll.

“Jane found something,” he replies.  This is obvious to even Eleanor, but she told him to talk simply and she nods at him to continue.  “The anomaly very well could be the solution to our current goal.”

“Choosing who to let through the bridge, you mean?  Giving Midgard control of who comes through that entry point?”

Loki frowns.  “Devising a means to deny or allow entry to this realm will take more work.  Jane’s anomaly will likely allow us to identify those who seek entry.”

This additional security to give Midgardians some agency over the bridge is all Loki’s doing and Eleanor is proud.  It was really stunning to see Loki plead his case to Fury, telling SHIELD to be wary of Odin and encouraging them to seek a way to control who enters this realm through this bridge. 

Miraculously, they listened.

This is Loki’s atonement.  She is aware he is doing it only to please her, but it is more than she ever hoped for before their big blow up over his attempts to break the bond.

“How are you going to do that?” she asks.  The whole thing seems too impossible to wrap her head around.

“Magic.”  When he grins like that he makes him look like a mischievous little boy.  She lets out a squeak when he abruptly rolls onto her, settling himself between her thighs as they automatically fall open to accommodate his hips.

“What kind of magic?” Her question is breathless.

“Intent, Eleanor.  It is all about intent.”

As he kisses her, Eleanor wonders about his intent. 

She was ecstatic when he started fully contributing to the Bifrost project, but he took it to a whole new level when he sought to give Midgard control.  Why he was so adamant that work on the bridge includes a means for humankind to allow or deny entry to this realm is a mystery.

This control over the bridge seems fair and important to Eleanor – and apparently Jane and Fury as well – but obviously seen as an offensive sign of distrust to Thor and Odin.

Was this Loki’s intent?  To cause strain between Midgard and Asgard?

Although Eleanor trusts him with her heart and soul and life, she can’t trust him with her people.

Loki is kissing her and kissing her, his current intent becoming clear as he touches her and all thought leaves her mind completely.

* * *

Even after nearly three years of peace and rest here with Eleanor, Loki has no master plan, outside his ongoing plot to make her love him.

She looks at him on occasion – in particular when he stresses the need to control entry to Midgard via the Bifrost – as if she is trying to determine his true, secret goals, but for once his schemes are all minor and amusing, far from the nefarious sagas that landed him here on Midgard in the arms of the songbird.

Save for the one.

It is his most successfully executed plot to date, but this knowledge brings him no satisfaction.

After nearly losing her due to his own idiocy, he sought to manipulate her affection into something much more potent and lasting to ensure that she would never make good on her ability to return him to the mercy of the Allfather.

At this point, it is obvious that he’s managed to thoroughly trick her into loving him.  Despite the lack of verbal confirmation on Eleanor’s part, her feelings are apparent in her touch, in her smiles. 

It is the way she smiles that truly convinces him of this success.  Her expressions of joy and contentment are the same as those he saw in the blue haze of the Tesseract all those years ago.

She is tender.  She is kind.  It is all the result of Loki’s manipulation and the knowledge sits uncomfortable in his gut, ignored as often as possible but an irritant nonetheless.

Her affection is a lie, but for once the falseness of the relationship is Loki’s own doing.  As the Allfather duped Loki into familial love, Loki dupes Eleanor into the romantic version. 

The knowledge leaves him hollow while the thought of being away from her sickens him, shredding his insides in a pain that seems far more potent than the memory of the titan.  The possibility of losing her keeps him from divulging this plot but his instinct is to confess. 

Sharing did not go well for them last time he made the mistake of giving her the truth.

It is not often he thinks on this one masterful plot, but as Eleanor inquires on Jane’s findings she gives him that look, as if she is struggling to determine his true motives and intentions.

The measure to give Midgard a certain level of control over who enters their realm is about Eleanor, of course, as most things seem to be these days.  Giving Odin free and easy access to the Bifrost entry in New Mexico puts Eleanor at risk.  If offering the pathetic mortals sound advice benefits Eleanor in even the slightest of ways then Loki will give such guidance in earnest.

It was shocking that Jane listened as Loki talked of the folly in allowing Asgard total control of the Bifrost, so much so that she took his idea to Fury.  Now they work tirelessly to find a way for Midgardians to either accept or reject would-be travelers.

It will not wholly limit Asgard’s ability to enter the realm freely, as there are other bridges throughout Midgard, but it will give Loki time to devise a plan to keep Eleanor safe if any were to come for them.

Annoying his false brother and father is a lovely side effect of his mostly good intentions.

As Loki kisses her to avoid more inane questions, he allows himself to believe the lie.  He pretends that the juvenile falsity of love is indeed real and that Eleanor’s feelings towards him are genuine, not a product of his carefully executed plot.

When she threads her fingers through his hair, arching off the mattress to be closer and moaning his name, lying to himself becomes extremely easy.

* * *

“Thanks for coming,” she says, tucking his hair behind his ear.

Loki snorts.  “As if I have a choice.”

“You could easily pop into the bookstore down the block,” she points out.  “Closed or not.”

He takes in the crowded bar with distaste before focusing on the infinitely more attractive songbird.  Eleanor stands at his side where he sits at a table they are saving for her friends, bestowing smile after smile upon him.

“Eleanor,” he says, sighing.  “I do not refer to our bond when I speak of choice but all the Midgardians here who are in need of a reminder that you belong to me, after what you do up there.”  Loki glares at the stage where Eleanor and her “band” have set up their equipment. 

This ridiculous affair is yet another sign of just how far he has fallen during his time on Midgard.  He allows Eleanor to flaunt herself, playing horrible music because she enjoys it so.

Still, he is extremely thankful that Eleanor and her fellow graduate students are only able to find the time to put on this monstrosity several times throughout the school year. 

Each are passable musicians in their own feeble Midgardian way.  He’s heard them create perfectly acceptable music in jazz ensembles and orchestras at the university.  Why they feel the need to “blow off steam” in this “electronic rock with a punk thing happening” group is beyond Loki’s understanding.  It seems like blasphemy to Loki, creating something so horrible and painful to the ear when they are capable of such beauty. 

Yet many Midgardians continue to pack themselves into this bar, willingly subjecting themselves to the heresy of “electronic rock with a punk thing happening.” He recognizes faces from the university.  It seems the whole of Eleanor’s department is in attendance, students and professors alike.

Occasionally someone will nod at Loki, but he’s done an excellent job cultivating an air of unapproachability.  On campus, he is known either as Eleanor’s scary and silent “boyfriend” or Jane’s scary and silent “assistant.”  Both these demeaning titles are abhorrent, but rarely is he forced to socialize with the mortals.

“I’m not trying to seduce anyone.  It’s called rocking out, Loki,” Eleanor says, rolling her eyes.

“Tell that to all these Midgardians who undress you with their minds.”

“Who are we mentally undressing?” asks Darcy Lewis, taking the seat next to Loki.  Jane Foster and Steve Rodgers quickly join her, bringing with them a larger pitcher of dark ale.  Loki immediately helps himself.

“No one is undressing anyone with their minds, okay?  Shit,” Eleanor says, flustered.  She plucks the glass of ale from Loki’s hand, taking a sip.

“Shall I pour you a drink of your own, my dear?” he asks.

“I got you a glass, Ellie,” says the Captain of America.

She shakes her head and proceeds to guzzle half Loki’s beer.

“What the fuck is that!”  Loki winces as Darcy Lewis shrieks in his ear, clambering to her feet and reaching across Loki’s face to grab at Eleanor’s wrist.  “What the fuck is this?” she demands again, flapping around Eleanor’s hand.

“It’s a ring, Darcy,” she replies, snatching her hand back and resting it on Loki’s shoulder.  “Calm the hell down.”

Ah, Loki understands now and he grins.  He’s been working on a way to get a ring on the fourth finger of Eleanor’s left hand since he discovered the bizarre Midgardian betrothal custom. 

Upon meeting Eleanor’s detestable childhood paramour, he took the opportunity to place it there without much fuss from Eleanor.  She rolled his eyes at his jealousy when Loki announced their engagement to the man, but it was laughably easy to convince her to see the jewelry as a simple gift.

It is not a simple gift.

And she has not removed it since.

“Why am I just now hearing about this?” Darcy asks, turning on Jane.  “You’ve been with them for two straight days.  I get Eleanor being her typical close-lipped self but I expected better of you, Jane.”

“I didn’t notice,” says Thor’s ex-Whore, leaning across the table to study Eleanor’s ring.  “Pretty.  You guys are really getting married?”

“Uh, no,” Eleanor says, snorting as if the idea is the most amusing concept in all the realms.  “Loki got all possessive when we ran into my ex over Christmas break and he magicked it onto my hand.  It’s fake.  Loki faked an engagement to send my ex a message or something.  I don’t know.”

Eleanor can say what she likes, but she has yet to remove the ring.  He has no need of barbaric Midgardian marriage rituals, although seeing his ring on her finger is highly pleasing.  The rest of the world sees it too.

“Oh,” says Darcy Lewis, dramatically flopping into her chair.  “That’s lame.”

Steve Rodgers pours her a beer and rubs her back.

“Why are you still wearing it?” Jane asks, giving Loki a look he has no hope of understanding.  “If it’s all fake.”

Eleanor shrugs.  “It’s pretty.  I like it.”

Loki smirks at the ridiculous doctor.  Jane shakes her head as if she is aware of something that remains hidden to the rest of them.

Eleanor steals the remainder of his ale.

“You are lucky that I am fond of you,” he mutters when she hands back his drained glass.  He grasps her hand, running his thumb over the ring in question.

Eleanor grins, waggling her eyebrows in an absurd manner as she leans down to kiss him.  Loki hums, feeling her smile against his lips. 

It is the smile he always wanted from her, but having it now is false.  The thought leaves him bitter and he pushes it away.

“Thank you for coming,” she says once more as she straightens.  “I know you hate this music.”

“Yes, how will you reward me?”

“I might have to get creative.”

The promise in her words and gaze will be enough to sustain him through the coming misery.  It also keeps him silent when her fellow graduate students and band members approach Eleanor, distributing shots to the table.

“To the Grads of Rock!” says the male band member who spends far too much time looking at Eleanor.  Apparently this band’s name is meant to be a humorous play on the term “gods of rock.”  This too is beyond Loki’s ability to understand, but he partakes in the toast all the same.

Eleanor gives Loki a final, chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth before joining her peers on the stage.  Darcy hauls Jane to the obscenely crowded dance floor, packed in with all the other cheering mortals.  It leaves Loki alone with the Man out of Time.  Although they are nothing close to friends, Loki finds Steve’s presence much more tolerable since his courtship of Darcy Lewis.

“What are you doing?” Loki asks, watching as Steve Rodgers shoves bits of neon foam into his ears.

“You’re not the only one who doesn’t like this odd modern music!”  The Captain of America replies with much more volume than is necessary.  “Earplugs?” 

This genius idea could easily be accomplished with magic, but Loki finds himself intrigued with this simple Midgardian device.  On a rare occasion he is begrudgingly impressed with the ways mortals compensate for their own extreme ineptitude.

He accepts the bright yellow plugs, pinching them as the Captain did before placing them in his ears.

The roar of the crowd is dampened into something bearable and he nods his approval at a grinning Steve.

Eleanor is in the center of the stage at a microphone, an electric guitar strapped to her small frame.  A female percussionist, a male with a keyboard, a female bassist, and the man-who-stares who plays a guitar as well, all join her.  The man-who-stares is also in charge of the computer and attached speakers that produce the most hideous sounds on some selections. 

Currently, he is the one speaking into a microphone of his own.  Loki is pleased that his words are so muffled by the plugs in his ears.  Eleanor bounces on the balls of her feet, ready to begin.  Loki grins as she starts playing before the man-who-stares can finish his speech.

The music maybe distasteful but there is no denying Eleanor’s talent, both as a musician and as an entertainer.  While her companions are stiff and uncomfortable in this setting so far removed from their standard musical pursuits, Eleanor shines. She “rocks out” and it looks wildly foolish to Loki, but this audience of Midgardians responds exuberantly. 

She throws herself around the stage, staring right at Loki and moving her hips suggestively.  Her eyes are closed as she wails into the microphone to uproarious cheers.

Although he would die before making such an admission, he understands why the Midgardians lust for musicians.

Eleanor is so powerful like this.  He cannot stop grinning as she lets out a scream, tossing her hair around her head and strumming the strings of her guitar as if her life depends upon this one action alone.

Earplugs are a truly inspired notion.

They play for an hour and all but Eleanor exit the stage to take a break between sets.

She pulls on the acoustic guitar he gave her in the bunker and Loki removes his earplugs, leaning forward as Jane and Darcy find their way back to the table.

Without speaking, Eleanor plucks out a series of pleasant chords.  The crowd is far too intoxicated for such subdued music, but when she sings a hush falls on the bar.  Even the simplest, drunkest mortals are aware enough to focus on the divinity they are currently blessed with.

And she is singing to Loki, eyes only leaving his when they drift closed during a particularly moving lyric.

She is beautiful and awe-inspiring and his. 

The words she shares are equally as lovely in the way they express her devotion.  They do strange things to Loki’s chest.  It should be an embarrassment, the way she serenades him so, but Loki enjoys the song immensely.

“I just wrote that today,” she says as she sets aside the guitar.  “Thanks.”

The applause is thunderous, but Eleanor is looking at Loki, nodding towards a hallway next to the stage but she is waylaid by the man-who-stares.

Loki glares.

“Cheer up, Loki,” chirps Darcy Lewis.  “They were awesome and now you look like you are trying to melt poor Paul’s face.”

Loki transfers his glare from the man-who-stares to Darcy Lewis.  Even after all these years the plucky little engineer pales and cowers under the power of his scowl, but it will do nothing to keep her from speaking in the future.  Most lamentably.

“Eyes elsewhere, buddy,” says Steve Rodgers, arms crossed over his chest.  “I don’t like you looking at my lady like that.”

“Aw, you don’t want him to melt my face,” says Darcy, pressing her ample bosom into Steve’s side, making the Captain flush and Loki gag.

“I like your face,” says Steve.

And then there is wet, sloppy kissing. 

Loki struggles, attempting to determine which sight is less repulsive, Darcy Lewis and Steve Rodgers slobbering on one another or the man-who-stares staring at Eleanor as she sits on the edge of the stage.

For once, Thor’s ex-Whore provides an adequate distraction, arriving with a second pitcher of amber beer.

“Jeeze, Loki,” she says.  “Could you at least pretend like you want to be here?  You look mad and miserable.”

The horrible suction sound indicates that the lovers at his side have separated.

“That’s what I said!” Darcy says.  “He hates Paul.”

“Of course he hates Paul,” says the Madame of Science.  “Paul likes Eleanor.”

Silently accepting the beer from Jane, Loki goes back to scowling at Eleanor and her band mate.  She catches Loki at it this time.  The man-who-stares is talking and gesturing from where he stands in front of her while the songbird nods absently, making goofy and unattractive faces at Loki.  He chuckles into his ale. 

After a few more minutes Eleanor gets bored of the chatter, sliding off the stage while the man-who-stares is still mid-sentence.  The deplorable Paul follows Eleanor’s line of sight to Loki, who gives the man a smirk and a mocking wave.  His ears turn pink as he scrambles away to fiddle with some piece of equipment on stage.

Eleanor nods toward the exit once more.  Loki empties his glass.

It takes him longer than he’d like to pick his way through the sea of mortals separating him from his songbird, but somehow he manages without shoving anyone, despite his urge to decapitate them all.

He finds Eleanor in the shadows, lurking by the exit.  Without speaking, she wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him down by his tie into a kiss eons away from the sweet, tender one she gave him before taking the stage.  This passion and need is certainly not a byproduct of her classical and jazz performances, so Loki decides this is a fair tradeoff for sitting through such jarring sounds.

Finding the exit is difficult given the way Eleanor is groping him with lips and hands, but the handle gives, accompanied by a blast of chilly air.

Without thought he conjures her jacket from inside, covering her bare arms. Eleanor giggles against his mouth and this should be his reward of tolerating this evening, but something is not right.

While the skin of his neck provides an adequate distraction for Eleanor, Loki studies the alley, searching for anything out of place.

“Loki,” Eleanor says, tugging on his hair.

There is nothing amiss, save for a feeling, so Loki gives in, kissing her once more.

She is so very insistent and aggressive in this moment there is really nothing to do but lift her, wrap her legs around his waist, and press her up against a brick wall.  This is not the first time they’ve engaged in sexual activity in this particular alley, but Loki is finding it difficult to focus on his songbird alone and in a way she deserves.

“Dude.” Eleanor groans, tugging on the zipper of his pants.  “Work with me here.  We don’t have that much time.”

He doubles his efforts, shuffling through the layers of her clothes to find skin and getting his fingers inside her.  Eleanor moans.

She is warm and perfect and his.

But he cannot continue.  Loki rears back, lifting his head from Eleanor to study the entrance of the alley.  He is unable to ignore the prickling at the back of his neck any longer. 

Someone is near, someone decidedly not Midgardian.

“Hey!” Eleanor protests as he withdraws his hand, angry and demanding.  Arching her back as she continues to move against him, Eleanor makes it very difficult to ignore the senses screaming for him to focus on the feeling that there is something here that should not be.

“Hush,” he snaps, staring avidly at the poorly illuminated entrance to the alley.

“What the—“

He covers her mouth, using the hand that was most recently causing her to writhe and pant to muffle her curses.  Although she glares for a moment, she quickly picks up on his tension and defensive posture.

Eleanor stops her groping, sliding down the brick wall.  Loki keeps her close when her feet find the ground and listens intently.

There is nothing and Loki worries that he imagined the sensation.  It took years for him to once more trust his own instincts after the insanity, to trust his own mind, and now he fears that this is a sign of returning madness.

Attacks of panic are a rarity these days, but he feels the familiar stirring in his chest.  Eleanor is struggling against his palm, wrenching it from her mouth.

“Dude,” she scolds.  “Ease up.”

Immediately he loosens his grip but before he can apologize for causing her pain, he is overcome by a wave of magic that fights to steal Eleanor from his side.

He reels, out of practice in such a defensive situation, but Eleanor is unmoved.  Her arms are around him, steadying him.

This is powerful magic that attempts to separate him from his songbird, but it is no match for the protection he placed on Eleanor himself the moment his magic returned years ago.  It is made stronger by the bond created by Odin that has evolved into something profound and more equal over the years.  The bond is no longer Odin’s, but theirs and it assists them now.

“Loki?” Eleanor whispers, tightening her arms around his waist.

The onslaught of magic does not stop, but Loki is able to combat it with ease now as Eleanor stares at him with concern, apparently unaware of the unseen entity attempting to separate them.

“Unhand her!”  A broad figure appears at the entrance of the alley and Loki straightens.  He is unable to weave any offensive magic because of Eleanor’s one lasting command, and as irritating as this fact might be, it also indicates that this stranger does not intend to hurt Eleanor.

Still, Loki does not relax.  He clutches her a little closer to his side.

“Unhand her, I say!”  The stranger’s voice is familiar, but his face is hidden in shadow.

Eleanor glances behind them, searching for someone else.

“Are you talking to us?” she finally asks, adorably confused.

“Of course,” says the stranger.  His voice is deep and smooth.  “I will free you from his grasp.”

Eleanor snorts.  “Listen, man, I don’t know what you think you saw but it was consensual.  Like, _way_ consensual.  We’re fine.”

“Eleanor,” Loki murmurs, hoping to stop the speech that flows from her mouth.

“You know not with whom you consort,” replies the stranger that does not sound so much like a stranger.

“Um, yeah, I really do.  My boyfriend,” she replies, crossing her arms over her chest as she scowls.

“Betrothed,” Loki corrects without thought.  She does wear his ring, does she not?

“I have no idea why you care,” Eleanor continues even though Loki should not let her.  “But this is my boyfriend, Luke.”

“Betrothed,” he says again.  Loki detests this fake name she uses for him on campus, but he understands the necessity, what with the videos on the internet of him declaring himself Loki of Asgard, demanding Midgardians kneel.  Occasionally some peer of Eleanor will point out the resemblance.  Eleanor’s responding fake laughter never fails to grate on his nerves.

“Is that what he told you?” asks the stranger.  “He claimed to be called Luke?”

As Loki finally places the voice of the stranger, he loses his own to shock.  Eleanor finally understands the gravity of the situation, but he can do nothing but mouth the name dumbly.

“Whoa, who are you?” Eleanor asks.  She takes a step towards the door that leads back to the relative safety of the bar, tugging Loki back to her side.

“The creature you cling to wants nothing more than to rule your world.  He nearly destroyed New York City.  Surely you recall that.”

“Um, yeah.  A lot fucking better than you do, buddy, being as I was there.  Who are you?”

“Eleanor—”  Loki starts.

“Silence, you monster!”

“Hey, fuck you!” says Eleanor.

“He is Loki, the trickster of Jotunheim.”

“I know who he is,” replies Eleanor.  “But who the fuck are you?”

“Bragi,” Loki finally manages.  “Eleanor, it is Bragi.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1st beta by Heather  
> Final beta by Erica


	3. Only in Dreams

Eleanor stares intently at the dark shadow at the end of the alleyway that is her long lost father.  Loki stares at Eleanor. 

The shock apparent on her elegant features is cartoonish and Loki forces back an insane urge to laugh at her ridiculous expression.

“Eleanor? It is Bragi,” Loki says again.

“Oh,” she says succinctly, snapping out of her shock.  “Well, _crap_.”

“Indeed,” Loki agrees.

“You know of me?” asks the God of Song, stepping forward.  His form is bathed in darkness and Loki tenses because self-defense is not on Eleanor’s banned list.

“I informed her of her heritage years ago,” Loki says.  Eleanor seems to have lost the ability to speak once more.  “Why are you here?”

“That is none of your concern.  I wish to speak to my daughter in private.”

Eleanor makes a choking sound.

“But I see that you have been bewitched by a monster,” Bragi continues.  “I shall free you of this curse first.”

Loki snorts and moves Eleanor towards the door.  “If anyone is prisoner in this relationship it is I,” he says.  “Tell me, _cousin_ , where in the nine realms have you been lurking that you did not hear of my punishment? Of the half mortal that came to Asgard to invoke old magic to tame the monster.”

“Hey!” Eleanor says.  “Let’s not be throwing around the m-word, okay?”

“Enough of this,” says Bragi.  It is still impossible to see his face.  “Come, Eleanor.  You are my daughter.  Association with this monster will not stand.  Come with me now and I will keep you safe.”

Eleanor blinks up at Loki.  “Is this guy serious?” she asks.

“It would seem so.”

“Well, fuck this.”  She pulls Loki through the door and back into the bar.

Mortals once more surround them.  Their presence will keep Bragi from doing anything rash. 

Or so Loki hopes.

They linger by the stage, Loki cradling Eleanor’s face in his hands.

“I… _Fuck_.”

“Oh, Eleanor.”  He sighs because there really is nothing else to say. 

“I’m fine.”

He scoffs.

“And you are not a monster, Loki.”

“Eleanor—”

“I need a goddamn drink.”

She flees, easily weaving her way to the bar.  Loki moves to stand by their table, tracking her movement as she leans over the bar, giving the man she finds there a false smile.

“What’s up?” asks Darcy Lewis. 

Loki cannot recall when he began to allow for this sort of thing, but Darcy Lewis is speaking to him.

“Up?” he asks, only taking his eyes off Eleanor to scan the crowd for her father.

“Did you guys fight?” she continues.  “Did you fake end your fake engagement?  You look even crankier than usual. And when you guys go outside between sets you never come back with time to spare.”

Loki clenches his jaw and wishes he could magically remove the tongue of Darcy Lewis.  He would keep it in his pocket.

“Seriously though,” says Jane, slurring her words, “how worried should we be right now?”

“A bit worried,” Loki says.

When Eleanor returns a moment later it is with an entire bottle of whiskey and a single glass.

“Are we taking shots?” Jane asks, eyeing the bottle warily. One drink turns the brilliant doctor into a swaying, giggling mess of a mortal.  It’s embarrassing to be associated with her.

Eleanor does not respond, simply opening the bottle and pouring a generous amount.  This first serving gets thrown back and she repeats the process twice more before sipping a fourth glass.

“Shit,” says Darcy Lewis.  “Are you planning on sharing?”

Eleanor glares and hugs the bottle to her chest.

“What happened?” Steve asks.

Loki opens his mouth to explain, but now Eleanor is glaring at him so he stays silent.  He stands at her side, scanning the crowded space for Bragi.  Although it’s been many centuries, Loki recalls the look of the absentee god with his blond hair and blue eyes, so like Eleanor’s.

So like Thor’s.

The thought makes him ill.

Bragi appears by the bar, clothed in casual mortal attire.  Even as he orders a drink, he stares at Loki in a way that is meant to be intimidating.  The god is nowhere near as broad as Thor, but his stature is more imposing than the typical Midgardian.  The lower portion of his face is hidden by a long, blond beard, streaked with hints of grey.

Bragi is an unpleasant reminder that Eleanor belongs somewhere, while Loki belongs only with her.

“Eleanor,” he murmurs, alerting her to the presence of his father.

She glances at the man quickly before pouring another drink.  “He fucking looks like an older, skinnier, creepier Thor.”

“Wait,” says Jane, blinking in the direction of the bar.  “What?”

“Bio-daddy’s in the goddamn house,” Eleanor replies, continuing to drink.

“Wait,” Jane says again.  “What?”

“Eleanor’s birth father accosted us while we were outside, quite angry to learn of his daughter’s relationship with a monster,” Loki explains.

Eleanor mutters into her whiskey.

“Holy shit,” says Darcy.

“What does he want?” Steve asks.

“We did not get so far as to know,” Loki replies, rubbing Eleanor’s shoulder.  “He alienated Eleanor horribly before I had a chance to find out.”

“Bigoted motherfucker.”

“Eleanor, let us go,” Loki begs.  “There is no need for you to remain here.”

“The second set.”

“Do not concern yourself with this,” Loki asks.

“I’m playing the fucking set!”  And then she stomps off towards the stage, whiskey bottle in hand. 

 

* * *

Although the masses of Midgardians dancing at her feet would never notice, the second half of the performance is much more subdued than the first.  Eleanor is intoxicated, her eyes glassy as she sways at the microphone.  The voice is no less powerful, but Eleanor does not revel in performing as she did before.

She is closing herself up, withdrawing from the wide world and in doing so, she scares Loki.  The last time she went silent he very nearly lost her, and logically he understands that she will not leave him now, that this is not about him.  Still, this knowledge does not make it any easier to watch her on stage as she shuts down emotion by emotion.

Bragi is here still, simply watching Eleanor and frowning.

Eleanor does not look at Loki.  She does not look at anything, save the back of her eyelids. 

Loki would like nothing more than to remove her from this painful situation but she won’t allow it and he is helpless to do anything but observe.

 

* * *

“We helped, right?” Eleanor asks, leaning heavily on Loki as he directs her towards the jeep.  “We helped everyone pack away all that equipment?”

“Yes, yes,” Loki says, annoyed by her bossiness even while this inebriated.  “I helped your peers pack away their equipment while you attempted to out drink the Man out of Time.”

Eleanor’s giggles are hysterical.  “But he can’t get drunk!”

“I am aware, thus my disapproval of your plan,” Loki says, lifting Eleanor into her seat in the jeep.

“Hey, hey, wait.”  Eleanor grabs at the collar of his shirt as he attempts to pull away and shut the door.  “I’m sorry.”

“Eleanor—“

“No, no, no.  I am!  You hate it when I get all drunk and old Ellie-like so I’m sorry.  I don’t do this anymore.  I don’t.  I know.  But…”

She cannot continue.  Tears gather in the corner of her eyes.

“Hush, Eleanor,” he murmurs, cradling her face and kissing her forehead.  Her small hands fist in the fabric of his shirt.  “There is no reason for you to apologize to me, my pet.  I ache to see you hurting so.  We will deal with this, as we always do, but not until morning.”

“I can just be drunk and sleepy and not think about it until morning?” she whispers, staring up at Loki with large, damp eyes.

“Yes, Eleanor.  Close your eyes and before you know it we will be home, alright?”

She nods and manages a slight smile.  “Will you kiss me?”

And he does.

Her eyes flicker closed by the time he shuts the door.

“Enjoying the show?” Loki asks as he turns away from the car, unsurprised to see Bragi lurking some fifteen paces away.

“ _bót mannaforráð_ ,” he says.  “You are bonded.”

“Indeed.”

“This hardly seems like a punishment,” Bragi says, stroking his ridiculous beard.  “The bond does not explain the romantic nature of your relationship.”

“No, it does not.”

“There is no magic forcing her to be with you in this manner.”

“None.”  Although, there are Loki’s manipulations.

Bragi sighs, leaning against another vehicle.  His shoulders are slouched and the posture is remarkably human. “Perhaps this is a positive.”

“Oh?  Your daughter is connected to a Jotunn monster and suddenly this is a positive?” Loki asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bragi never found the charm in Loki’s mischief.  Quite the opposite, really.

“Yes, well.  Despite all that, you are unarguably powerful.  Your magic surpasses even mine, and if you care for her as you appear to, than you will be able to protect her.”

Loki stands a bit straighter, scrutinizing the god before him.   “Protect her from what?”

Bragi sighs.  “I know not.  And I’d rather have this conversation when my daughter is not passed out from liquor consumption.  That’s an unattractive trait she received from me, I believe.”  He grins ruefully.  “I was always a bit of a lush.”

Loki does not respond.

“I am aware that this meeting did not go well and it is my doing.  Perhaps in the morning Eleanor will agree to contact me?  Do you have a cellular phone?”  Bragi asks.

Loki blinks, overcome by how surreal this moment truly is.  The most mysterious and ill-humored of his mother’s relatives, a powerful being whose magic is nearly as powerful as Loki’s, is asking to exchange telephone numbers. 

“I do not,” Loki says.  There is no real need, not with Eleanor never more than two miles away.  “But Eleanor does.  If you give me your number I will pass it to her on the morrow.”

Bragi chants out the ten digits and Loki wonders if his life could possibly be any more peculiar.

 

* * *

“I don’t want to fucking do this,” Eleanor mutters, slouching low in her seat at the diner and hiding behind her sunglasses.

It’s way too fucking bright in here for her poor, hungover head.

“We can go, Eleanor.  No one is forcing you to do this.  Certainly not I.”  He sips his coffee and looks like he’d rather be anywhere else himself. She removes her sunglasses and rubs her temples.  “Or we can delay this meeting.  You only met him for the first time yesterday.  There is no need to rush if you would rather give yourself time to adjust to the idea.”

She slides over in the booth, pushing up against Loki.  She lays her head on his shoulder, only wincing slightly at the movement.

“I just want to get this over with, sweetheart,” she says.  “And his cryptic little warning freaked you out.”

“I am fine.”

He is sitting beside her, ramrod straight, guzzling coffee, and tapping his fingers on the tabletop.  Most telling of all, he is not leaning into her touch or trying to comfort her hangover at all.  He is most definitely not fine.

“Do you think maybe the whole protection line he fed you last night was just a way to get me to talk to him?” Eleanor asks.

“It is entirely possible.”

“I can’t believe this dick is actually late.  I don’t like him, Loki.”

“Nor do I.”

“If he calls you a monster one more time I’m going to fucking lose it.”

The bell above the door chimes and Eleanor peaks up from her position resting against Loki’s shoulder to see the elusive Bragi stride into the diner with so much confidence and swagger that Eleanor is already annoyed.

He’s shorter than Loki, but not by much, and he appears older too, but not as old as he should be.  His blond hair is the same fucking shade as Eleanor’s and only a few inches long.  The short hair looks weird on an Asgardian, but not as bad as the scraggly beard.  The flannel and jeans are pretty bizarre, too.

In all the years since she found out about her weird alien heritage, she never gave this much thought.  Denial was much more comfortable than thinking about having a wayward father out there, doing who knows what.  Every time Frigga visits she offers to tell Eleanor about her father, and every time Eleanor’s said no.

All that denial was probably a mistake.

“This sucks, Loki.”

“Indeed it does.”

“Good morning,” Bragi says, standing by the table and looking awkward.  “Hello, Eleanor.  I am your father.”

She barely resists the urge to cover her ears and chant “la, la, la.”

“Okay, yeah,” she replies.  “Let’s just stick with Bragi because as far as I’m concerned, ‘father’ is an earned title.”

Bragi frowns and clears his throat.  “May I sit?”

“Yeah,” she replies, very begrudgingly.

There is silence and staring.  Eleanor pretends to read the menu.  Loki guzzles his coffee and he doesn’t even like coffee.  Bragi just looks at her. 

The waitress arrives.  Eleanor orders eggs and hash browns.  Loki just wants coffee.  Bragi gets pancakes.

“You are beautiful,” Bragi says, smiling softly.

“Okay, none of that either,” she snaps, losing patience.  “This is not a get to know you breakfast.  There would be no breakfast at all, but I am hungover and starving and you freaked out my boyfriend last night.”

“Betrothed,” Loki corrects, because apparently that is something he is doing these days.

“I think you’re an ass,” Eleanor continues, ignoring the God of Fake Engagements.  “So just tell us what you came to tell me in the first place and let me go back to pretending that you don’t exist.”

“I do not fully understand your ire,” Bragi says.  His expression can only be described as pouting.

“You knocked up my bio-mom and then left her to die in childbirth.  You left me to the mercy of a couple of clueless mortals, who loved me but also lied to me.  You are a selfish dick that just seems to flit around the universe with no concern for the lives you touch in the process.  I don’t hear from you in… How old am I?” she turns to ask Loki.

“Thirty-six,” he replies.

“She knows not how many years she’s lived?” asks Bragi.

“I don’t hear from you for thirty-six years,” she continues.

“Nearly thirty-seven,” says Loki.

“And when you do show up with some cryptic bullshit concern for my safety, you repeatedly insult my favorite person,” Eleanor says.

“I’m your favorite person?” Loki asks.  “Darling, I’m touched.”

“ _He’s_ your favorite person?” Bragi asks with obvious disgust.

“I don’t need a father,” she says.  “I don’t need another flighty Asgardian in my life.  Why are you here, dude?  Just tell me.”

Bragi starts messing with his hair and his gaze drops to the table.  The mannerisms are a bit too familiar and Eleanor refuses to acknowledge that she might have anything at all in common with this world-jumping, bigoted prick.

“Do you dream, Eleanor?’ he murmurs.

“What kind of fucked question is that? Of course I dream.”

“Why?” says Loki, leaning forward in his seat.  For the first time this morning he is actually taking some interest in the proceedings.

“Dreams can hold great meaning,” Bragi says.

“Eleanor dreams of her father, often,” Loki says.

“Really?” Bragi asks, beaming like a moron.

“You are a moron,” Eleanor tells him.  “My _real_ father.  As in, the man that raised me.  Harrison Tate.”

“Oh.”  Bragi shakes his head twice as if to clear it.  “And what is the nature of these dreams?”

“I relive his fucking death, okay?  What the fuck are we doing here?”

“You are very profane,” mutters Bragi. “Why do you feel the need to curse with such great frequency?”

“Holy fuck nuts,” says Eleanor, hiding her face in her hands.

“What of these dreams?” demands Loki.

“When you dream of the man who raised you, these dreams are in no way prophetic you mean to say?” Bragi asks.

“Prophetic?” repeats Loki.

“Eleanor appears to have a musical ability similar to mine.  Does she also have magic?” Bragi asks Loki.  Eleanor does not appreciate the way he talks about her as if she’s not even here.

“Yes,” Eleanor says.  “So what?”

“I thought perhaps in addition to my music and my magic she garnered also my dreams of a sibylline nature,” Bragi says a bit too loudly.

A couple of farmer-looking types glance over them warily.  Eleanor scowls until they drop their gazes.

“I can’t remember ever dreaming about something that came true,” she says.  “Why the fuck are you here?”

At this most inopportune of times, their food arrives.  Eleanor doesn’t even glance down as the mouthwatering spread is placed in front of her, waiting for the God of Song to answer her question.

Bragi starts eating his pancakes methodically. 

She grumbles under her breath and thinks about screaming at the man until he finally spits out whatever the fuck he found her to say, but this whole conversation will be slightly less horrible with food in her belly.

So she eats.  Loki steals her toast and half her eggs.

Eleanor stares at Bragi’s plate as he cuts his pancakes into perfect little squares.  He gets one square on each prong of his fork and then douses the whole thing in syrup before carefully placing the food in his mouth.  It’s some pretty strange behavior and Eleanor is overly fascinated by the whole process, watching him be a freak even after her meal is gone.

“My dreams tell me something wicked this way comes,” Bragi says, trying to lick syrup from his beard.  “You are involved somehow.”

“What comes?” snarls Loki, banging a fist on the tabletop and making the dishes clatter.  “How is Eleanor involved?”

She is too shocked by the statement to comfort Loki.

“Something dark,” Bragi says, squinting.  “Something powerful.  It is done biding its time and it will consume the universe.  Eleanor starts it.”

“Starts what?” she whispers.  Although she resolved to not believe a word that comes out of the song god’s vile mouth, his resigned, assured tone has her freaked.

“The end of all things light, Eleanor,” he says.  In this moment Bragi is sad and tired.  For the first time, Eleanor is curious about her bio-daddy.  She wants to know where he’s been.

Loki’s face is blank, but she can feel his rapidly growing anxiety.   

“So what else?  When is this big scary thing going down, and what do I do to start it?” Eleanor asks.

“I know not.”

“How do I stop it?”

“I know not.”

“Is this even the real deal?”

“It is.  I am sure of it.”

“Why should we believe you?”

“I know not.”

With a frustrated growl, Eleanor clenches her fists and resists the urge to leap across the table to strangle the man.

“Do you know anything at all?” she asks, grinding her teeth together.

“I know you are in danger,” he says.

“Why me?” Eleanor asks.  “I haven’t done anything. I’m not important.”

“Is it me?” whispers Loki. His expression is unfathomable and Eleanor takes his hand under the table.  His grip is a little too tight.  She runs her thumb over her knuckles.  “It must be me.  I brought Eleanor to the attention of dangerous beings.  She would be safe and ignorant if not for me.”

“It is possible,” Bragi says, shrugging and combing her fingers through his ridiculously scraggly beard. 

“Loki, come on,” she says when he jerks his hand away.  She can see the self-flagellation in his expression.  “It’s not your fault.”

“It is!  I selfishly decided to stay here, with you, knowing full well that my immensely powerful enemies would one day seek to punish me for my colossal failure.  Even before that, while still in the bunker, I exposed you!  I _saw_ you in the Void, Eleanor, suspended and tortured beyond reason, unmade, remade into something unrecognizable.  And even knowing what I know, even with those images seared into my mind, I willingly put you in danger by simply choosing to remain at your side.” 

By the end of his speech Loki’s breathing is ragged and Eleanor would probably be tearing up if her giant weirdo of an absentee bio-dad wasn’t watching them, continuing to fiddle with his beard.

“Excellent choice in paramours, Daughter,” says Bragi.

“You can just shut the fuck up,” Eleanor says to Bragi before turning back to Loki.  It’s been a long time since he’s had a panic attack and they’d both like to keep the streak going.  “Loki, you are jumping to the worst possible conclusion.  This is all bullshit.  Look at this weirdo.   Did you see how he ate his pancakes?  There is no way that anything this clown says is remotely believable,” she says, placing a palm over his heart.

“I speak the truth,” says Bragi.

“This is my doing,” Loki mutters, picking at his left hand with his right. His eyes dart wildly, not really seeing anything.

“Possibly,” Bragi agrees, remarkably unperturbed by the whole situation.  “Although unlikely.  I have a much more plausible theory.”

“You couldn’t have led with that?” Eleanor asks, glaring across the table as Loki calms fractionally.  “What is wrong with you?”

“Your theory,” Loki snaps.  “Now.”

“It’s her magic,” Bragi says as if it is as simple and obvious as that.  “Even on Asgard, magic is a rare gift.”

“Really?” Eleanor asks, turning to Loki.  He nods, giving weary confirmation. 

“For the majority of your life, you were the most powerful being on Midgard,” says Bragi, being completely serious.  Eleanor blinks at him.  “Even if you did not know it, you are of Asgard. Not only this, but you have magic.  Until the arrival of your treacherous companion, you were the most powerful being in this realm.”

“Most powerful?” Eleanor says with a laugh.  She thinks of a hulked out Dr. Banner.  “Yeah, okay.”

“The potential is there, and this darkness, whatever it is, has sensed you and it will seek you out, for your life force is stronger than the mortals here.”  Bragi sounds sad and serious.

 “Can we go?” Eleanor asks turning to Loki.  She is so completely done.

“Tell me everything,” Loki says, leaning over the table and glaring at Eleanor’s bio-daddy.  Bragi looks a bit taken aback to see how thoroughly threatening Loki can be, but he nods once and tells Loki everything.

There is not much to it. 

The man’s so-called prophetic dreams seem like a lot of crap to Eleanor, but Loki listens with rapt attention, his jaw clenching tighter and tighter as Bragi describes feelings and colors and absolutely nothing helpful.

“Red and black,” says Bragi.  “Red and black.  The universe will end in darkness.”

“You want me to totally change our life here for these cryptic as fuck feelings you have?” Eleanor asks, arms firmly crossed over her chest.

“Yes,” says Bragi, as if he is being totally reasonable. 

“And what exactly would you have me do to not start the end of the world?” she asks.

“All the worlds,” Bragi corrects.  “Come with me.  I can keep you safe.  Keep you hidden.”

“No,” Eleanor replies.

“You must at least consider—”

“I’m good here, thanks.”

“But surely you do not trust this monster to—”

“I’m done,” Eleanor says, turning to Loki again.  He obliges her this time, sliding out of the booth and wrapping an arm around her shoulders as he leads her out of the restaurant. 

Bragi trails behind, pleading with Eleanor to listen, but she is too angry.

“He can come with us!” Bragi says, getting in front of them as they approach the Jeep.  “He’ll have to, as you are bonded.  Although, that might cause a whole new round of dangers as the places I know to hide can be easily accessed by this one’s enemies.  Thanos wants you, does he not?”

Loki goes pale and rigid at the name.

“Fuck off!” Eleanor shouts.  “I don’t trust you.  I’m not going anywhere with you because you had a weird dream.  Fuck off.  And don’t you fucking dare stay in touch.”

Bragi gives a beseeching look to Loki.  It’s the equivalent of “talk some sense into your hysterical woman,” and if Eleanor didn’t hate the God of Song before, she does now.

“Call me on my cellular phone if you reconsider,” says Bragi, frowning and backing away.  “Get her some place safe, Loki.  Some place safe.”

He turns and leaves.  Eleanor relaxes slightly.

“Some place safe,” Loki echoes.

 

* * *

 “Eleanor,” he says gently when they get home, closing the front door behind him. 

She does not want gentle, and she violently rips off her scarf, followed by her jacket.  The items are discarded on the floor as she stomps to the kitchen, going immediately to the liquor cabinet.  The whiskey bottle is not nearly as full as she’d like it to be, but she unscrews the lid and tips it back to her mouth anyway.

Loki confiscates the alcohol after three gulps and Eleanor tries very hard not to growl at him.

“Eleanor,” he says, shaking his head at her and frowning.

“Give it back.”

Loki rolls his eyes.  He waves a hand over the bottle and it disappears.

“Bring it back!”

“Eleanor, we must discuss this,” he says, placing his hands on each of her shoulders.  He’s got his intense, serious face on and Eleanor really wants the booze back. 

“We are not going to discuss the ravings of a lunatic,” Eleanor replies, glowering up at him.  “This guy is no one to us, Loki.  You might have known him a billiondy years ago and he might have spawned me, but he’s nothing.  I mean really, let’s just think about the way he ate his pancakes.”

Loki actually cracks a smile and Eleanor doesn’t want the whiskey anymore. She cradles his face in her hands.

“It was super weird,” she says.

“It was.”

“He is super weird.”

“A bit odd, yes.”

“There is absolutely no reason to trust this guy.  He abandoned me and left my bio-mommy to die birthing me.  Where were his prophetic dreams before, huh?  Like when you kidnapped me?  You’d think a concerned parent would have made an appearance for something like that,” Eleanor says.

Loki winces.  “I truly am sorry for that.”

“I know,” she says, wincing herself as she pats his cheek.  She did not intend to make him feel worse.  “That’s not the point.  The point is, the guy is the very definition of unreliable.  There is no reason for us to trust him, okay?”

Loki sighs and messages her shoulders.

“So let’s just not worry about any of this.  Let’s not worry about anything until there is something to really worry about.”

Loki sighs again, his head jerking fractionally.   It might have been a nod.

“Okay?” she says again.

“Okay,” he murmurs.  His smile is almost bashful and he looks so young.  It makes her heart hurt.

“That was my bio-dad,” she says, groaning.  “Gross.”

“Indeed,” Loki agrees.

“Can I have the whiskey back?”

“Absolutely not,” he says, scowling again.

“Well, then I guess you’re just going to have to fuck me until I can’t even remember my own name.”

He obliges her.

* * *

 

When Loki is rudely torn from sleep, he thinks it is a result of a dream, _his_ dream.

Although the nightmares plague him with much less frequency than they once did, the memories haunt him still on occasion, and after the stress of the previous day it is not wholly surprising that they return to him now. 

He stares at the ceiling for a few moments, but through the fog of lost sleep there is no panic festering in his chest, only confusion.  He recalls no dreams.  Typically he has the opposite experience and is unable to banish the memories of horror from his mind.

An elbow flails into his ribs and he turns to scold his songbird for invading his space in such a violent manner, but a terrified, helpless whimper escapes her lips.

The sound makes him despair and for a moment he can do nothing but gape down at her, taking in the way her limbs shake.  Behind her lids, eyes are twitching.

Two days previous, Eleanor’s nightmares would be mildly disturbing but she would wake for him to kiss away her demons and perhaps tease her until she once more smiles.

In light of Bragi’s revelations, her dreams spell doom.

She whimpers once more, spurring him into action.

“Eleanor!” he shouts, shaking her out of her nightmare.  Beneath his hands her skin is clammy and he can breathe once more when Eleanor’s blue eyes fly open. 

For a heart-stopping moment Eleanor recoils.  The fear in her eyes reminds him of how she once looked at him, all those years ago when he was so determined to rule this miserable realm.

But then her vision clears.  She lets out a muffled cry and drops her forehead to his shoulder.  Loki cradles her head and strokes her back as he whispers soothing words.

“You are safe with me, Eleanor.  You are safe.  I will protect you always.”

Slowly she is able to calm her quaking form, and when she pulls back her terror is replaced by a look of embarrassment.

“Silly, I know,” she says, attempting a smile.  For a moment he wonders if she finds his night terrors _silly._ “It wasn’t like your nightmares.  It wasn’t a memory.  Just a dream.”

He scoffs.

 _Just a dream_.

This is one of Eleanor’s more ludicrous mortal notions and it is extremely vexing that she maintains this perspective even after their conversation with her father the previous morning. 

Dreams are of great import.  He knew this long before the appearance of Bragi, and Loki finds it both annoying and worrisome to hear Eleanor state otherwise.

She dismisses the gravity of dreams, yet he is sick with worry.

“Just a dream,” she murmurs again.

“I will be the judge of that.”  He snaps at her without intending to, and he feels like the heartless Jotunn bastard he is when she frowns slightly.  Despite his cruelty, Eleanor allows him to stroke her cheek, just as she always does.  “Tell me of your dream,” he requests, gentle now.  “Was it your father?”

 “I…” she starts.  “I was scared.  Someone was there, hissing.  Or maybe it was laughter?  Or a different language?  But I couldn’t see where it was coming from.  I couldn’t see anything and the darkness was crushing me.  I didn’t think darkness like that was possible.  I was cold and all alone and then you woke me up.”

It is very little information and he spends a few minutes interrogating her for more until she lets out a groan and hides her head beneath a pillow.

Loki tries to calm his racing heart, for this could be a coincidence.  Eleanor does experience nightmares.  They are rare, far rarer than Loki’s own nighttime horrors, but she does have them.

And Loki stopped truly believing in coincidence the moment he found Eleanor, the only other alien in a realm full of seven billon mortals.

It is impossible not to think of the darkness and loneliness of the Void, given all she just said.

In her description of the nightmare, she gives him back his own painful memory.  Loki relives the crushing blackness that pressed upon him for lifetimes, and the acceptance that he would be alone for the rest of his days, and the ardent wish that those days would be few.

And the laughter, chilling and strange, always a sign of the pain to come.

It is a struggle to keep his face impassive as Eleanor peeks up at him from beneath the pillow.  It is a struggle to keep from frightening her before he knows more.

He holds enough fear for the pair of them, so much so that he is choking on it. 

Was the terror in the Void this sharp?  This potent?

No, in the Void he had naught to lose. 

Bragi, Loki’s enemies, Eleanor’s nightmare: is there any conceivable way these factors could be unrelated?

“Freaky, huh?” Eleanor asks, readjusting to lie back down on the proper side of the pillow, blinking up at him with big blue eyes.

“Indeed.”  Loki barely manages the word through his clenched jaw.

She places a tiny hand on his pale stomach and Loki lies down as well, wrapping his arm around her rather than pacing around the bedroom as his legs are aching to do. 

He knows not what it means.

Perhaps this not knowing is the most terrifying aspect of the situation, second only to the thought of Eleanor trapped in the Void, lost and suffering.  Whatever this dream may mean, whatever Bragi’s dreams may mean, it is Loki’s doing.

Despite Bragi’s personal theory that apparently absolves Loki of guilt, this must be Loki’s fault.  Truthfully, he always knew that one day his past would harm Eleanor, but he thought they’d have many more years.

He saw a future with her in the Void, trapped and alone in the place that haunts him still.  The Tesseract showed him this possibility but he will not allow it to occur.

Loki is such a danger to her, but the damage is done and he will stay with her as long as she’ll have him.  If he were a good man – if he were _Thor_ – he would have exchanged a life with Eleanor for a century of solitude because her life would be much improved if he left her long ago. 

After the torment of the Void, a mere century alone should be passed with ease but he could not give her up.  He would quite literally lose his mind once more. 

All that aside, it is too late for such selflessness.  Separation will not keep her safe.  Perhaps it was too late when the Other got a glimpse of her in the bunker all those years ago.  Perhaps he damned her the moment he plucked her off the street, or even before, the very moment he approached her in that crowded entertainment venue after hearing her voice for the first time.

It is done.  She is damned.  Loki will not leave her now, nor will he allow her to be stolen from him.

“Loki,” she says, shaking him from his progressively more violent thoughts.  “Too tight.”

He releases her immediately, appalled to have caused her pain even as he vowed to protect her.  Eleanor stays pressed into his chest, bringing his arms around her once more.

“There,” she murmurs, settling once more.  “Perfect.”

She is quiet for a long time, her slumber returning. 

Loki cannot sleep.  It is likely that Loki will never sleep again, not when Eleanor’s dream could so easily become a reality.  Not without knowing what to make of Bragi’s cryptic warnings.

The Other knows of her.  _He_ knows of her.  They will come for him and they will use Eleanor to do so.  He simply expected to have more time to devise a plan.

“It has nothing do to with Bragi’s dreams,” Eleanor murmurs, apparently still awake.  “I’m sure of it.  Meeting him just freaked me out.  That’s all.”

Loki stays silent.

“Did it remind you of your dreams?” Eleanor asks.

Loki nods.

“That’s what you dream of?  Of it being dark and you being alone?”

“Among other equally unpleasant things.”

“But for you it was real.”

“Enough, Eleanor.”

“It wasn’t anything, Loki.  All that talk of darkness and everything had me on edge.  Please don’t make this a big thing.”

Loki huffs.  At times Eleanor is entirely too stupid for his liking.

“You think it’s more than that,” she mutters.

And more often she is far too perceptive for her own good.  “I do not know what it is.  This is what I find so concerning.”

“I’m fine, Loki,” she says.  “I’m sure I won’t have another dream like that and I’ve never had one before.”

Except that is not entirely true.  She woke up screaming for him on the morning he morphed their miniscule hut into a dwelling more suitable for his beautiful songbird. 

And before that he watched her flesh melt away, heard her voice give out, in countless dreams of his own. 

And then Bragi, with his certainty that something destructive is upon them soon and Eleanor is at the start of it.

How could all that possibly be a meaningless coincidence only?

He so desperately wants to believe that dreams are just dreams. 

Still, in the morning he will cloak her in every protective speak he knows.  He will make her mind even more of a fortress than it already is, continuing the work he saw Bragi perform in the Tesseract.  He will never let her out of his sight, despite the two and more miles their bond can now be stretched.

“Loki,” she says, touching his jaw and offering him a reassuring smile.  “I’m fine.  I’m fine.”

Yesterday when they arrived home from breakfast with Bragi, he allowed her to convince him of this.  Now it is not so easy to believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1st beta by Heather  
> Final beta by Erica  
> These ladies are the best ones. Seriously.


	4. Troubled Waters

“I shall go with you,” Loki shouts across the lab as Eleanor dons her jacket.  “If you had more patience than that of a poodle, five minutes more would not seem so dire, Eleanor!”

“You know what a poodle is?” asks Darcy Lewis, obviously impressed.  “Dude!”

Loki growls at her.

“You are being completely ridiculous!” Eleanor yells back, stomping her foot and clenching her fists.  “We are going to the cafeteria, not the fucking moon!”

“ _Language_!”

“You are driving me crazy,” she continues, ignoring his interruption.  “I am walking two-hundred yards to the cafeteria where I will wait in the absurdly long line for fancy coffee with Darcy.  We will be out there among Stark researchers and SHIELD agents.  There will be no mysterious darkness for me to unleash on the universe between here and the cafeteria.  I will get you tea and you will stop freaking out!”

Eleanor wraps a scarf – his scarf – around her neck with a bit too much force before storming out of the lab.

“I hate it when Mommy and Daddy fight,” mutters the insufferable Darcy Lewis as she too leaves.

Loki moves to follow, but Jane blocks his path.

“I will end you,” he hisses at the puny mortal.  She has the audacity to roll her eyes.

“Don’t you think she’s pissed enough at you already?” says the Madame of Science.  “What could really happen in the ten minutes she’s gone?  And if something does happen could you really not get to her in a heartbeat?”

As vexing as it may be, Jane offers a fair point with her endless logic. 

In the weeks since Bragi shattered the fragile peace of the life Loki created here with Eleanor, they’ve fought incessantly. 

Loki knows his near-constant hovering grates on Eleanor’s nerves, but her absolute dismissal of the possible validity of Bragi’s warning amplifies Loki’s stress in turn.  And she refuses to discuss her dream that followed, even if she has not had another nightmare since.

They are short with one another; peevish and easily annoyed. 

Loki loathes this new development in their otherwise stable relationship, but until Eleanor acknowledges that the warning in her father’s words could very easily be a legitimate one, Loki cannot manage the typical kindness with which he usually treats her.

Long ago, after very nearly losing her, Loki resolved to manipulate her fleeting affections into something deep and binding.  To make her love him, Loki decided to treat her with the utmost cordiality and doing so now feels so innate that fighting with her is unpalatable and unnatural.

“So, you still have no idea what Bragi was warning you about, huh?” Jane asks, stepping back from the board containing variations of equations they’ve spent the morning reworking

“He didn’t exactly give me much to go on,” Loki mutters, sitting on the edge of Jane’s desk.  “Feelings and colors are not searchable in The Google.”

“Google,” Jane absently corrects.  “And I doubt you’ll get anywhere with the internet.  This sounds like some ancient shit and even if some mortal in our history knew something, I doubt they got it right.  I mean, look at Snorri Sturluson and all those botched Norse myths.  Unless you have a whole barnyard full of kids somewhere?”

Loki rolls his eyes.  “It is desperate to look to Midgardian resources.  If your oafish paramour would once more grace us with his presence perhaps I could access applicable, intelligent information.”

“Ex-paramour,” Jane corrects, turning away in an unsuccessful attempt to hide the sorrow on her face.  “It’s been almost eight months since he left.  And our fight was pretty major. You are totally right about controlling the Bifrost, Loki, but it made him so angry, like I was ‘disrespecting the might of Asgard.’”

Loki snorts.

“It’s done,” Jane continues.  “It was a big fight. A break-up kinda fight.”

Loki is woefully inexperienced with relationships and he fears that this growing animosity with Eleanor will escalate into a “break-up kinda fight.”

“Perhaps not,” Loki says.  “In all likelihood Thor has been busy restoring peace throughout the nine realms rather than simply neglecting you.”

“Huh?  Peace?  There is not peace?”

“Many took advantage of the destroyed Bifrost,” Loki says, shrugging.  “With the might of the Aesir stranded on Asgard I am sure many realms slipped into chaos.” The thought makes him grin momentarily.  “Now that they’ve repaired the bridge from their end, I would think that the Crowned Oaf has been occupied restoring peace.”

Jane blinks.  “Well, noble as that might be, I doubt he’s too busy to write me a letter.  We’ve gotten letters through the bridge before and he could do it now, if he really wanted.”

There is no defending Thor on this count and Loki’s instinct to do so is somewhat unfathomable. 

The glass doors slide open and Eleanor steps in, two steaming cups in hand, and Loki can once more breathe. The frown marring her delicate features indicates that she is angry with him still, and Loki will not allow a “break-up kinda fight” to occur between them.

“Your tea,” Eleanor says, slamming the paper cup down on Jane’s desk with an excess of force.

“Thank you, Eleanor,” he murmurs, giving her a small smile.

She regards him with dubiety, but relaxes somewhat when he cradles her face between his cool palms.  He kisses her gently, with a tenderness that is in direct contrast to the angry, aggressive desperation that has characterized their physical contact since breakfast with Bragi.

When he pulls back Eleanor is dazed, smiling a slight, shy smile that is very rare for his self-assured songbird.

“Gross,” says Darcy from somewhere behind them.  “Get a room.”

“We are in a room,” mutters Loki, never looking away from Eleanor.

“Shut your face, Darcy!  And what are you thanking me for?” she asks Loki.

“The tea,” he replies, grinning.  “I do enjoy it so.”

“I noticed.”

“Would you like to dine out tonight?” he asks, dropping his hand from her face as she gapes up at him.

“Like, in town?   You hate town.”

“I am useless in the kitchen.”  This is not wholly true, but better than admitting he’ll brave the company of mortals for her.  “And you deserve a respite from playing the kitchen wench.”

Eleanor rolls her eye but then the shy smile returns.  “Okay,” she says.  “It’s a date.”

* * *

 

Loki wears a dark grey Midgardian suit.  Eleanor selects a short skirted, long sleeved dress that she’s apparently kept since the bunker all those long years ago.  She attempts to tame her hair and insists Loki drive.  Eleanor holds his hand and sings along with the stereo. 

As they speed towards Puente Antigo, Loki magically reduces the volume of the music playing over the speakers in small, nearly unnoticeable increments until Eleanor’s voice is unpolluted.  She rolls her eyes, but makes no move to stop singing or increase the volume once more.

The most resplendent of public dining houses in this infinitesimal speck of humanity is more suited for peasants than gods, but Eleanor enjoys the potatoes beat into an unrecognizable pulp and accompanied by garlic.

Loki insists on a relatively private booth, tucked in a corner.  It provides him with a view of both exits, and with their backs to the wall none could possibly sneak up on them from behind.

Eleanor thinks this seating selection to be merely romantic.

“This is like a legit date,” Eleanor says as she settles against his side.  “Have we ever been on a date before?  This is probably the most normal thing we’ve ever done.”

“Normal is excruciatingly dull and highly overrated.”  Loki drapes an arm over the back of the booth and murmurs in her ear.

“Yeah,” Eleanor replies, grinning.  “You taught me that kinda a while ago.”

“And we’ve been on dates before.  We’ve dined in this establishment many times.”

“Only in a group when Thor or Tony or Steve are in town.”

“And this makes dinner not a date?  Being with more than one other individual?” he asks, once more struggling to understand bizarre Midgardian courtship practices.

“Loki, my dear God of Romance,” Eleanor says with a giggle.  “Have you never been on a date?”

“I honestly do not know.”  Despite his numerous Asgardian lovers, he never formally courted any.  This Midgardian dating seems more serious than the clandestine meetings of loves on Asgard, and eons less intense than the punctilious courtship arranged by Asgardian elders.

This relationship with Eleanor is obviously something unique.

“Aw,” croons Eleanor.  “I’m your first.”

“So it would seem.”

The arrival of the waitress ends the moment.

“Wow, you guys look great,” she says after introducing herself.  “Special occasion?”

“Just dinner with the boyfriend,” Eleanor replies, absently patting his knee.

“Betrothed,” Loki says, snagging Eleanor’s wrist and showing off the ring on Eleanor’s left hand.  The waitress fawns over it and Loki quite enjoys Eleanor’s discomfort.  Eleanor orders a bottle of wine, sending the simpering Midgardian on her way.

“So, what’s with the whole betrothed thing?” she asks.  “You keep telling people that.”

“I detest the title _boyfriend_.”

Eleanor sighs and asks him to detail Asgardian courtship procedures.

The evening is pleasant.  Loki does not lecture Eleanor on her safety and the gravity of Bragi’s dreams. 

He is not comfortable out here among the less informed mortals.  Flimsy as it may be, the Stark Complex provides a level of security that is absent here in what Eleanor refers to as “the real world.”

Still, for once Loki is able to ignore his simmering panic and focus on Eleanor, the way she smiles at him, the flush in her cheeks from a combination of wine and genuine joy.

Eleanor orders a giant slab of meat.  Giant slabs of meat remind Loki of centuries eating to the point of stomach pain in a failed attempt to alter his frame, to add muscle and width, to look like Thor.

He orders fish.

Eleanor forces a bite of garlic mashed-potatoes in his mouth and he begrudgingly admits that they taste far better than they look.

At the end of the evening Eleanor hands over her card of credit to the waitress, who then taunts Loki for letting his lady pay for their meal.  The gentle mocking leaves him confused.

“Did I commit some sort of Midgardian faux pas?” he asks Eleanor when they are once more alone.

“No,” she replies.  “There’s this stupid tradition of dudes paying on dates.  Don’t worry about it.”

“I have no Midgardian currency,” Loki grumbles.  This _dating_ should not be so complex.  “You will not allow Jane to pay me for my assistance.”

“You’re atoning!  You can’t get paid for atonement.  Plus, I get paid an obscene amount of money to do data entry part time.”

Loki scowls.

“My money is your money, babe,” she says, patting his knee once more.

“Do not call me _babe_!”

“Loki, don’t worry about it.”

In the millennia spent as a prince, coinage was never once a concern, yet now he worries that he’s gone all these years as a financial burden to Eleanor without noticing.

“You’re worrying about it,” she accuses. “Stop that.”

He cannot stop that until she kisses him.

“Where is that damnably meddlesome mortal?” Loki growls when she pulls away.  “I wish to be inside you.  Immediately.”

“Check!” shouts Eleanor to no one in particular.

* * *

 

Eleanor is up and moving, jostling the covers and offending Loki thoroughly.

After the physical exertions of these last hours it is an ego blow to realize that Eleanor is capable of moving at all.

On the journey home Eleanor assured him that it was indeed an immensely successful date and like all immensely successful dates, this one too would culminate in copious amounts of sex.  She then proceeded to take him in her mouth, even as he attempted to drive them home safely.

It was a delightful notion that Eleanor gave a disgusting name.

When they did arrive home – stunningly unscathed despite Eleanor’s best efforts – he was once more blessed with Eleanor’s laughter.  He endeavored for hours to change those giggles of glee into moans of ecstasy, and then back again.  And again.  And again.

But now she somehow still possesses the energy to get out of bed, rousing him in the process.  Loki rolls to the edge of the mattress, opening one eye to watch her move in the dark.

“Come back to bed, you absurd woman,” he mutters. 

Instead, she drifts naked out of their bedroom. 

Loki’s eyes slip closed and he lingers in purgatory between sleep and wakefulness.  He thinks of nothing but the warmth of their bed and the softness of these sheets.

This bed is one of his all-time favorite locations in all the realms.  He did not understand the value of lazing the day away here until Eleanor taught him.

Tomorrow they will be at the university, so there will be no chance of convincing Eleanor to sleep in.

Eleanor.

Eleanor.

Eleanor is not touching him and Loki rolls towards the center of the bed, reaching out for his betrothed.  It takes him several long seconds of fruitless exploration before Loki remembers that Eleanor exited the bed and then the room.

He stills and relaxes for a moment after solving the mystery before bolting upright, suddenly overcome with fear because Eleanor exited their bed and then the room.

Alone, this behavior is odd, but Loki recalls her unnaturally straight posture and her total lack of concern with her nudity, despite the chilly February air.  And Bragi’s warning rings in his ears.

_Something powerful.  It is done biding its time and it will consume the universe.  Eleanor starts it._

Loki leaps out of bed and somehow manages to pull on a pair of knit pants while braving the stairs.

“Eleanor?” he calls out into the eerily silent house.  Their bond now extends nearly three miles.  She could be anywhere in a three mile radius.

A glow from the dining room prevents him from completely losing all composure.  He finds her there, seated rigidly, staring blankly at her computer. 

Blankness on Eleanor is always terrifying, but this expression is not the mask she dons when her emotions threaten to drown her.  This is something else entirely, haunting and foreign. 

Also tired.  She looks so tired.

“Eleanor?” he asks, approaching her with great caution.  The light of the screen illuminates her nudity and in any other circumstance she would be beautiful and ethereal, but everything about her conveys a wrongness, as if something hideous wears her skin.

“Eleanor!” He pulls her chair back from the table, crouching in front of her and taking her face in his hands.  “Eleanor, please.”

She says nothing. 

“What is this?” he demands. “What are you doing?”

“The next transport to London, England is not for six hours.  This is an unacceptable delay.”  Her voice is hollow and cold.

“London?” he asks, hating the way she looks through him rather than at him.  “Who are you? What is the import of London?”

“I must get to London.”

Loki looks to her computer screen where a confirmation number flashes.  After a few mouse clicks it becomes apparent that Eleanor has spent over three thousand dollars on a last minute booking.

He touches her forehead, hoping to determine if there is some dark presence within her, but he learns nothing.  He can sense nothing.  She is still Eleanor.

It is as if she sleeps but moves and talks simultaneously.  Sleep walking, the mortals call it, and the situation is only slightly less dire than when he thought something vile had taken over his songbird.

When he presses for more detail – _why London, Eleanor?  Answer me!_ – she gives him nothing but confusion and a firm, repeated conviction that she must be in London immediately.

It goes on for nearly half an hour before Loki’s rage boils over.  He shakes her, but she does not wake from this brainwashed state.  He smacks her face lightly, but is unwilling to hit her hard enough to have any real effect.

In the end he slings her over his shoulder.  She offers no protests, but does ask if he is taking her to London.

Instead he dumps her unceremoniously in the pool behind their house.

“What the fucking fuck!” she screams when her head breaks the surface of the water again.  Treading water and sputtering, she makes her way to the shallow section of the pool so she can touch the bottom.  “Loki!  This is not fucking funny!”

She is Eleanor once more and in his relief Loki’s legs lose their ability to function.  He sinks into a crouch by the pool’s edge, fisting his hands in his hair. A sound escapes his lips, similar to that of air being freed from a balloon.

“Motherfucker!” Eleanor continues to rant and splash around.  “You are lucky this is a heated fucking pool because it’s fucking February!  Seriously, Loki?  I thought you were better than this.  Your mischief is usually much more elegant.  Frankly, I’m disappointed.”

He blinks at her as she floats just below him, holding onto the side of the pool.

“I mean, what the fuck?”  Nonsense continues to flow from her mouth as she scowls up at him.  “Was this really the way you wanted to end our really awesome date night?  Throwing me in the pool?  What the fuck?  This is your worst practical joke yet.”

“Joke?” he manages.  “You… you think I wanted to dump you in the water?  In jest?  You think this intentional mischief.”

“Why the hell else would I be in a pool right now rather than in bed with you, huh?  Was my sex coma not enough for you?  What, do you want to do it in the pool now? Because this is not the way to go about it.  Like, at all.”

“You remember nothing?” he whispers, teetering on the edge of the pool.

“I remember falling asleep all blissed out and cozied up next to you in our bed!” she shrieks, splashing him.

He doesn’t even feel it.

“You woke me,” Loki murmurs.  “You got out of bed.  You walked downstairs.  I was practically asleep and cannot believe it took me so very long to realize that something was amiss.  I apologize, Eleanor.  I will redouble my efforts in the future.  Constant vigilance.”

Eleanor stops splashing him and blinks.  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You walked downstairs and while I dozed you spent three thousand dollars on a flight to London.  It leaves in several hours.  I don’t think you’ll make it.”

Eleanor finally seems to understand the gravity of the situation.  She is wide-eyed and silent.

“I do not know why.  You were in a trance, Eleanor, and something was calling you to London,” he says.  The fear cripples him and he knows not where to start to ensure her safety.

“I don’t want to go to London,” she whispers.

“I know.  But something wants you there, Eleanor.  You made that very clear, although I could not get further answers from you.  When shaking did nothing to end your entranced state, I submerged you.”

“Fuck,” she mutters.

“Indeed,” Loki concurs.

Eleanor lifts her arms straight in the air, a silent request that he remove her from the pool.  He does so, getting his hands under her arms and pulling her from the water.  She is dripping and naked and glorious, but Loki is too sick with worry to admire her in the manner she deserves.

“Fuck!” she hisses when the cold air hits her wet skin.  She presses into Loki, but he is without a shirt and is unable to provide her much warmth.  He did not think to get her a towel before dumping her in the water.

He hustles her inside, marching her up the stairs and directly to their large shower.  Her teeth are chattering when the water finally warms and Loki pushes her in, trailing close behind.

“Do you understand now?” he asks when she finally stops shaking.  “Are you finally willing to take your father’s threat seriously?”

“Loki, come on,” she says with a groan.  “People sleepwalk.  It’s a thing.  A fluke.  A one time deal.  Please don’t get all crazy over it.”

He gapes at her, stunned by her stupidity, arrogance, and her ability to avoid that which scares her.

“There’s no connection, Loki.  Come on.  I can’t handle you constantly vigilant.  You’ve been so fucking stressed these last few weeks, and the hovering has got to stop.  You’ve got to take it down a notch, not amp it up!”

There were very few moments over these last years with Eleanor when she truly angered him.  She does have annoying habits, such as her tendency to leave clothes both clean and soiled on the floor of their closet, but his rage is very rarely directed at his songbird.  He hates the way men – and the occasional woman – watch her too intently.  He once hated the power she holds over him and perhaps he does anger when he thinks on it, but that rage is directed at the Allfather.

But now he is blinded by fury, so much so that it scares him, and Eleanor is the target.

Without a word he exits the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist.  He flees to the nearest spare bedroom, not wanting to sully their bed with his violent resentment and infuriation.

He does not sleep for the remainder of the night, focused entirely on listening for any noise to indicate anything is awry in the next room over where Eleanor sleeps without him.

* * *

 

“Good morning!” Jane calls out the window of her strange van as she comes to a stop in their driveway.  Loki nods in greeting but Eleanor says nothing as she slides open the door and crawls onto the bench seat in the rear. 

Loki takes the front and tries not to slam the door.  “Seatbelt, Eleanor,” he mutters for she constantly forgets.

“Stop telling me what to fucking do,” she mutters even as she awkwardly wraps the buckle around her waist.

“Perhaps I would stop if you showed any regard for your own safety,” Loki snaps back.

“Bite me,” says Eleanor.

“You okay, Eleanor?” Jane asks, throwing a glare at Loki.

“Yeah.  I’m sleeping till we get to campus, okay?”

“Okay,” Jane says, still glowering as she pulls out of the driveway.

Loki is left alone to silently sip his tea for the first half of the forty-minute commute to the university.  The liquid from the travel mug Eleanor bestowed upon him last Christmas is scalding, but Loki continues to sip steadily until it’s gone.

He slams the empty mug into the cup holder.

“So, rough night?” says Jane. 

“Indeed.”

“Date didn’t go well?”

“No, in fact.  Quite the opposite.  Eleanor assures me that it was immensely successful,” Loki mutters.  Somehow this fact makes the current divide between them that much worse.  He does not understand how she can be so cavalier about her own safety when it is everything to him.  Absolutely everything.

“But you guys are worse,” Jane says.  “It’s been bad for weeks.  How can a great date make it worse?”

Loki sighs heavily and progresses to explain the chilling episode last night.  Jane listens avidly and then reacts as he thought Eleanor would, with the utmost concern and horror.

“And she just dismissed it?” Jane whispers, glancing in the rearview.  “She didn’t remember buying a three thousand dollar plane ticket?  Really, she doesn’t think that’s weird at all? Especially after everything her dad said?”

“I don’t know how to get through to her, Jane,” Loki murmurs, staring out the window at the barren landscape.  “Eleanor has always masterfully avoided what she finds unpleasant and she dismisses these warnings because of their source.  Bragi is a sore subject and although I believe she will come around given the time, she is in danger, Jane.  After last night I am all the more convinced that Bragi’s prophetic dreams are accurate.”

“You’ve got to fake it,” Jane says.  “Just don’t talk to her about it until she’s ready.  Do your thing.  Keep her safe. Try and figure out what the hell is going on in London, but don’t tell her about it until she asks.”

“Are you suggesting I lie to your very best friend, Miss Foster?” In this moment Loki silently admits his slight affection for the Madame of Science.

Jane shrugs.  “If she’s going to act like a child, you’re going to have to treat her like one.  This is some serious shit, Loki.  It’s her life.”

“It’s her very life,” Loki concurs.

* * *

 

He paces in relative solitude.

The frail mortal children that make up the student body at the university are spoiled by New Mexico’s typical heat and they cower indoors if there is even the slightest chill in the air.  This winter has been particularly cold, much to Loki’s delight, and now he is alone outdoors, pacing in the dead grass outside the performance arts building where Eleanor lectures on the theory of music.

Every time he passes the window he checks to make sure Eleanor still stands in front of her twenty-three undergraduate students.

Her phone is clenched in his hand.  He removed it from the back pocket of her jeans when they parted ways without her knowledge.  In the thirty minutes since Eleanor entered the music building he has placed three calls, all to the same number.

He tries a fourth time and is finally met with an annoyed grumble. “This better be fucking good, Madonna.  I’m in the middle of something.”

“Stark, did you mean to curse at my lady?”

There is a beat of silence.

“Loki?” says an obviously shocked Man of Iron.  “You learned how to use the phone.”

“You are an imbecile, Tony Stark.  A primate could operate a cellular device.”

“Aw, babe.  I missed you too.  What are you wearing?  Metal and leather?”

“Do not call me _babe_.  I do not allow even Eleanor to call me _babe_.  And I do not see why my attire is of any great import.”

“You really did miss me, huh?”

Loki growls into the phone, glancing through the window to see Eleanor gesturing frantically at a projection of a complicated series of musical notes.

“This is serious, Stark!  If you continue with this needless homoeroticism I will truly make you suffer.   Pepper will never look at you in the same way when I am through with you.”

Tony Stark laughs.  Loki wonders when he lost the fear.  It happened slowly, this begrudging acceptance amongst those he sought to kill, and at most times he is thankful that those such as Tony Stark bear him little to no animosity for Eleanor’s sake.

Now, he would rather be feared and listened to than accepted.

“Tony,” Loki murmurs, willing this mighty hero of Earth to understand.  “It is Eleanor.”

“Madonna?”

“I am concerned.”

“What happened?”

Loki gives Tony Stark every detail, from Bragi’s sudden appearance and wholly uninformative warning to Eleanor’s dream and the bizarre trance the night before.

“I confess,” Loki continues.  “I thought perhaps old enemies of mine had their sights on Eleanor as a means to seek vengeance for my failures, but this seems something different.  Something ancient and unknown.”

Tony Stark whistles through his teeth.  “Ellie’s Pops really didn’t give you much to go on, huh?  That’s pretty fucking cryptic.  Hello.  Nice to meet you.  I’m your dad and I’m here to say that you are going to destroy the world in some unknown way. Hey, that rhymed!”

“Stark! Focus!”

“Really, how is any of that helpful?”

“As alarming as Eleanor’s trance was, at least we now have somewhere to start.  London.  Are you in London?  I demand you go scour London immediately.”

“Dude, I can’t just bop off to London.  I’ve got a life.  Responsibility,” Tony Stark replies.

“Damn your responsibilities!  This is Eleanor’s very life we are discussing!”

“And also, you know, the end of the universe.  I’m in California, but Steve’s near London.  Call him,” Tony suggests.

Loki groans.  “The Captain of America was just in town for a prolonged stay.  I’ve had more than enough conversations with the patriot to last lifetimes.”

“Tough shit.  Call him.”

“Eleanor is lucky I care for her so,” Loki mutters, running a hand through his hair.

“That’s debatable.  Hey, what about Fury?  You planning on cluing SHIELD in?” asks Tony Stark.  His frowning expression is audible in his voice.

“Absolutely not!” Loki screams into Eleanor’s phone.  “And you are not to inform them, Tony Stark!  You understand better than most how they operate.  The threat Eleanor now represents would not be acceptable to your Director Fury.  The danger in these unknowns is far too great and they would in all likelihood lock her away.”

“Yeah.  Shit.  Yeah, you’re right.  Call Cap.  He’ll let you know if there are any weird goings on in London.”

“I would really rather you do it.”

“Tough shit,” repeats the Man of Iron.  “Call him.”

And then there is only silence from the other end of the line, for Tony Stark has hung up.

“What are you doing?”

Loki spins in place to see Eleanor frowning directly behind them, arms crossed over her chest.

“Hello, my dear.  How was class?”

“Fine,” she says, plucking her phone from his grasp.  Loki gives her a hopefully charming grin.  “You took my phone.”

“I needed to make a call.”

“Oh, did you?” she asks, shoving the device back in her pocket.

“I missed the sound of Tony Stark’s voice.”

Eleanor’s laughter is genuine and after the stress of this morning it is such a relief to have her smiling at him once more.

“Come,” he says, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and guiding her towards the science building.  “Jane’s sofa calls your name.  There is more than enough time for you to get a nap in before your next class.”

“Okay,” she says, cuddling a bit closer in defense to a sudden burst of wind.  “You want to lie down with me?”

“I am amenable.”

* * *

When Eleanor attends her next class, Loki steals her phone once more.  This time he dials a number not saved in her address book, but one Loki memorized when the God of Song shouted it across the parking lot of a bar.

Bragi does not answer.

Loki calls a total of five times and leaves a total of three voice messages, each more aggressive, threatening, and desperate than the last.

* * *

 

“Woo, spring break!” Darcy Lewis shouts the moment the clock strikes five o’clock.

“You aren’t even in school,” Eleanor says, tucking her guitar back in its case.  She remains on the Stark payroll and usually continues her menial organization work on days spent in the lab, but today she finished early and took up playing.

“But Jane is!  And you are.  So I’m taking the week off too.  Plus, Steve is coming in tonight and I love spring break,” Darcy continues to chatter, powering down her computer and tidying her workstation.

“We’re not taking the week off,” Jane says.  “Darcy, we are so ridiculously close to controlling the bridge.  So close!”

“Well, I’m taking the week off.  Steve and I are going on a nice romantic getaway to these hot springs.  The whole place is real swanky.  Hey, do you guys want to come?  It could be a couple’s getaway.  And also Jane.  Jane too.”

The Madame of Science winces.  “Thanks, Darcy.  I’m good here.”

“Fine.  Party pooper.  Ellie? Are you in?” Darcy asks, kneeling on a swivel chair and pushing herself towards Eleanor.

His songbird laughs and jerks her head towards Loki.  Why she is not simply saying no is confusing.  There is no possible way Loki would agree to a trip with the boisterous buxom brunette and the Captain of America.  He cannot think of a more painful way to spend several days.

“No,” says Loki when Darcy spins to face him.  “Absolutely not.”

“Come on!  It will be fun.  Lazing about in the desert in naturally heated mineral water.”

“I honestly do not know why you would have me join you when I would like nothing more than to drown you and your cohort in said naturally heated mineral water,” Loki replies.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me, Miss Lewis,” Loki replies.

“Does this mean you aren’t even going to join us for dinner when Steve gets here?” Darcy asks.  “I know Ellie would really like to see him.”

Loki looks to Eleanor.  She shrugs.

“We will attend your dinner,” Loki agrees, but only because Steve is flying in from London and Loki would have the patriot’s most recent update.  In the months since Eleanor’s little episode, Steve has explored the city whenever he had free time from his work with SHIELD.  There is nothing, no whispers of anything strange or any other warnings from the still-missing Bragi.

Eleanor has been sleeping peacefully and Loki does not mention the lingering threat, but he watches her as relentlessly as he searches for answers.

Thus far, none have been found.

* * *

 

Loki attends dinner with Eleanor and her friends.  The moment the girls get distracted in the kitchen, Loki pulls aside the Captain of America.  He shakes his head.

Thus far, there are no answers in London either.


	5. Somewhere Safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1st beta: Heather  
> Final beta: Erica

“You are not fine!” Loki hisses.

Several patrons waiting for a table look up, alarmed by Loki’s angry voice and aggressive stance. 

Eleanor sighs and gives the name to the hostess.  “Your party is already seated.  Out back on the patio,” she replies.

“Thanks,” Eleanor says, grabbing Loki’s hand and dragging him through the crowded restaurant.

“Eleanor!” he spits, fuming.  With a frustrated sigh she pulls him into an alcove for a bit of privacy.

“Can we please just have this conversation after breakfast?  Please?” she begs, glancing at her watch.  She’s put off this conversation about her freaky nocturnal behavior since it started five months ago.  Surely Loki will give her a couple more hours of willful ignorance after letting her live in la-la land for this long.

Tony is in town but only for the day and she really just needs a few more hours before she accepts that something is wrong.

She wakes up in the pool at least once a week, and this week three nights in a row.  Of fucking course something is wrong.

“How can you think of breakfast at a time such as this?” he demands, really yelling at her now.  “The last three nights you’ve attempted to get to London, Eleanor!  What is in London?  Why London?  I’ve had to throw you in the water to get you back three nights in a row and you are solely focused on breakfast!”

 “Are you okay, Miss?” asks a concerned looking waiter.

Loki snarls at the intruder.  Eleanor is impressed when the guy takes one step back, but otherwise holds his ground.

“Get.  Out.” Loki demands, in full on menacing mode.  Eleanor tugs on his hand to keep him from charging the good Samaritan. 

“We’re fine.  And we’ll keep it down.  Sorry,” Eleanor says.

The waiter leaves and when they are mostly alone again, Eleanor stands on her tiptoes to kiss the corner of Loki’s mouth.  He relaxes fractionally.

“You know I have no idea what’s in London.  You know I don’t remember anything except waking up in the pool.  I believe you, Loki, when you say there is something really wrong here and I’m sorry that I’ve been in denial for so long, but these two hours won’t change anything.  Let me just have breakfast before I start freaking out, okay?”

Loki gives her a begrudging nod.  It’s the most she could hope for, given the situation, but he still radiates rage.  It’s her doing, really, for being such a stubborn ass about her strange, terrifying, out-of-control behavior. 

Ignoring the problem never solved anything but she was determined to give that strategy a shot.

She hasn’t even told Loki about the increased frequency of her dreams yet.  That will have to wait until after breakfast as well.

They find Tony sitting with Steve, Jane, and Darcy at a circular table in the sun.  Both men rise to greet her.  Tony lifts her off the ground in a hug while Cap simply nods.  She settles herself between Loki and Tony with Jane on Loki’s other side.

Pleasantries are exchanged. Eleanor pretends to read the menu but really watches Loki.

He is dressed in his version of casual, the light grey three-piece suit without the jacket and the white sleeves of his shirt rolled up.  Loki says nothing, sitting ramrod straight, hands fisted in his lap, jaw clenched.  He looks so nice it makes Eleanor feel like a homeless person in her sundress, but at last she isn’t scaring the wait-staff with her expression.  He scowls at the unopened menu on the tabletop in front of him while the others shoot each other questioning looks.

Although each person at the table is well acquainted with Loki’s moodiness, it has been years since Loki’s been this miserably quiet and visibly agitated.

Tony is the first to directly engage the irate god.

“So are we going to have time today for a rematch?” asks Iron Man, rubbing his palms together.

“Chess, you mean?” Loki grumbles, pulling sunglasses out from a pocket to hide his eyes.  “Grow up, Stark.  Such games are for children.”

“Dude, you turned my suit pink last year.  Talk about childish.”

Eleanor snorts at the memory.

“No chess!” Loki bellows.

Tony blinks in surprise before exchanging a look with Eleanor.  She shakes her head slightly, hoping Tony will just leave her God of Crankiness alone.

“Party pooper,” Tony says.  “You just know I’ll kick your skinny ass.  I’ve been practicing.”

“With whom?”

“Banner.”

Loki scoffs and doesn’t bother replaying.

A waitress arrives, distracting Tony from poking the tiger as she offers to place drink orders.

“Right,” Tony says, rubbing his palms together.  “A bottle of your finest champagne.  This is a celebration.”

“It is?” asks Darcy.

“Anything else?” asks the waitress.

“Scotch.”  Everyone turns to gape at Loki.  Eleanor just sighs and hides her face in the menu.  “Or red wine.  Or both.”

“Um, sorry, sir.  But this is a breakfast palace we don’t have scotch.  Or red wine.”

If looks could kill the poor waitress would be a goner.  She takes a step away from Loki and gulps audibly.

“What, pray tell, do you serve?” Loki asks with barely contained fury.

“Sangria is a kinda wine.  And bloody Marys,” the girl manages.

Loki looks to Eleanor, silently asking if he would like either of these new cocktails.

“He’ll have a bloody Mary,” she says, reaching out to take his hand.  “Actually, make it two.”

“Three,” says Darcy.

“Bloody Marys all around,” says Tony.

“What exactly are we celebrating?” asks Jane. 

“You being in town?” Darcy guesses.

“It’s a little presumptuous to call that a celebration,” Eleanor says.  She decides to get an omelet.

“Ha, no,” replies Tony.  “But thanks, Little Miss Sunshine.  I love you, too.”

“Any other guesses?” asks Steve.

“Just tell us,” insists Jane.

“Why,” Tony says, “your grand achievement, of course!”

“Mine?” Jane asks, brow crinkling with confusion.  Tony doesn’t offer any more explanations.  He just grins at Jane expectantly. 

Loki sighs. “Jane, he knows.” 

Eleanor squeezes his knee as he picks at his left hand.

“Knows?” asks Jane, still confused.  “Oh.  Oh!  How do you know?  Fury doesn’t even know.  Hell, we don’t even know.  Not really.”

“My lab,” Tony reminds her.  “I’ve got ears everywhere.”

The drinks arrive and Tony raises his glass for a toast.  Everyone but Jane and Loki follow suit.

“No,” Jane says.  When she shakes her head rapidly she smacks Loki in the face with her long hair.  He rubs his temple, looking completely miserable and nearly out of patience.

“To Jane, Loki, and Darcy,” says Tony.  “Accomplishing the impossible in just a few short years.  And I guess Ellie too.  Sorta.”

“To us!” says Darcy. 

“But it only works in theory!” says Jane.  “No one’s tried to come through the Bifrost at all so we don’t know if we’ll be able to identify them and deny them access.  It only works in theory!”

Loki says nothing.

“To crazy rainbow space bridges and hanging out with aliens,” says Tony, with a smirk.  He nods at Eleanor and Loki. 

It’s a pathetic toast, leaving Tony amused, Darcy thrilled, Jane flustered, and Loki looking as if he’d very much like to slaughter everyone in the general vicinity. 

“So what’s the holdup there, anyway?” Tony asks.  “Why haven’t you tested it?  Big, bad trickster scared to face blond brother Point Break after stalling the Bifrost project for the good of humanity?”

Loki growls.

The whole thing is very predictable and Eleanor wonders why she thought a nice, conflict-free breakfast was even a possibility. 

As Jane and Loki argue with Tony, Steve asks Eleanor about school.  She gushes about her dissertation and upcoming performances. Eleanor can feel Loki’s tension mounting.

“Oh, what is the bleeding point?” he snaps, raising his voice to ensure that everyone stops talking to listen. 

Steve gives Loki a familiar scowl but the God of Rudeness is too busy guzzling his drink to notice. 

‘The point of what?” Eleanor asks.  She can feel her annoyance slowly morphing to anger.

“Your so-called education.”

Unlike her counterparts Eleanor is not quick to anger, but he is throwing a tantrum and generally acting like a dick so she finds herself getting there. 

And yet he’s been remarkably patient with her since Bragi popped up in their lives six months ago, so she takes a deep breath and forces herself to calm.

Despite her months of denial, Eleanor is not an idiot. 

Try as she might to live in blissful ignorance, it was impossible not to notice Loki’s efforts to solve the mystery of her trances and the dreams.  She’s heard him whispering to Steve about trips to London.  He’s been trying to find Bragi since her first trance in February, but her bio-dad unsurprisingly – and disappointingly – vanished.  Loki’s made no progress figuring out what it all means so Eleanor does not understand what he expects her to do in this moment.  It doesn’t seem like there is anything to be done at all, except enjoy a peaceful breakfast with their friends.

There is really no need for him to start insulting her education, the one he badgered her into getting.

“Really?” Jane snaps at Loki.  “You of all people are questioning the importance of an education?”

“I question the importance of Eleanor’s goal to receive a silly slip of paper,” Loki replies.

“She’s working to get her masters in music performance,” Jane says.  “It’s kinda a big deal.”

“Meaningless.  Tell me, Eleanor, is there anything new you are currently learning in terms of musical performance from the university?”

“Well, not really,” she admits.  It’s the Asgardian in her, but Eleanor can glance at a complicated bit of music and have it memorized in seconds.  It took her less than a week to passably learn the harp.  Although she finds school interesting, it’s not exactly revelatory.  “But I like it.”

“But you could abandon your studies, if need be?”

“I wouldn’t want too.”

“But if you had to?”

“Why would I have too?”

“Humor me, Eleanor.”

The poor, traumatized waitress returns before Eleanor can formulate a response and she takes their orders.

“I require no sustenance,” says Loki when it’s his turn.  “Bring me another brutalized mortal woman.”

“He’ll have another bloody Mary,” Eleanor translates.  “And waffles.”

“I have no appetite.  No waffles.”

“You can’t have any of my eggs,” she says.  “I’m starving.”

“I have no appetite.”  He is basically snarling at her. 

It’s the snarling that really changes her mad into a chilling fear.

To everyone else, Loki is impatient and mean.  To everyone else, snarling would be perfectly commonplace, but not with Eleanor.

The rest of their party ignores this little spat, chatting and laughing after placing their own orders, while Eleanor sits in silence, suddenly as anxious as Loki for this meal to be done. 

For Loki to snarl at Eleanor like that, her situation has to be far worse than she thought.

Since settling into the quiet life here with Loki, Eleanor has feared its end.  It is shameful to admit, but she always thought Loki would ruin it somehow with one of his schemes, but instead something unknown and external threatens the life they’ve carved out.  Whatever solution Loki presents, things will change despite Eleanor’s desires for this to be their life forever.

That’s the root of her denial.  Her fear that the change will be too great for them to survive it whole.

The summer sun gets a little too intense and Eleanor gathers her messy blond mane into a knot at the back of her head.  Loki wastes no time removing the hair tie, making a show of snapping it cleanly in half.  Eleanor glares at him and steals a sip of his refreshed bloody Mary.

“Okay,” Jane says before he can retaliate.  “What is going on with you two?”

“You aren’t breaking up, are you?” asks Darcy, sounding genuinely concerned.

“No,” spits Loki.  “Absolutely not.  The opposite, in fact.”

Eleanor raises an eyebrow but Steve asks before she can get the question out.  “What is the opposite of a break up?”

“Does this have to do with your performance issues?” Tony asks.  One of the legs of his chair mysteriously cracks and he falls on his ass.  In the commotion that follows as the staff rushes to get Iron Man a new chair, Eleanor hopes that the conversation will be forgotten so she can finish it later with Loki at home.

“So is the opposite of breaking up, like, getting married?” Darcy asks when everyone is settled.  “I thought that engagement ring was fake?”

Eleanor snorts.  “It is.  Thanks to Odin’s bond, we can’t get more than a couple miles apart.  Marriage seems pretty lame in comparison.”

“The couple miles is what must change.  You are no longer allowed out of my sight.”

Four years ago such a statement would have inspired very different reactions from the people gathered around the table.  While in the past they might have threatened Loki and tried to convince Eleanor to end this whole thing, now they just laugh.

“Good luck with that, buddy,” says Tony, still chuckling.

 “I’m not allowing her a say in the matter.”

“You sound like old Loki,” Jane points out.

“Bad Loki, we call him,” Darcy says.  “Bad Loki.”

“He is still Bad Loki,” mutters Steve.  “Look at him.  He is a controlling tyrant.”

“Thank you, Rodgers,” says Loki, being completely genuine. 

“Why?” Eleanor asks quietly, taking his hand again.  “Will that really help?  Why don’t you want me out of your sight?”

Miraculously, everyone shuts up long enough to hear the answer.

“Because it is the only way to ensure that you are protected until I can convince you to stay somewhere safe!”

Something in his tone completely changes the mood at the table.  Eleanor can feel Steve and Tony slip into Avengers mode while Jane’s motherly concern is palpable along with Darcy’s fear.  Loki and Eleanor’s companions sit up a little straighter, all traces of humor gone.

“Where is safe?” asks Jane.

“We have yet to find anything to prove that Bragi isn’t full of shit in London,” Tony reminds them.

“Do you think Eleanor will go into a trance during the day?  I mean, you’ve managed to keep her from actually going to London at night so far,” says Steve.

“This is way above my pay grade,” mutters Darcy.

“Okay,” says Eleanor, not looking away from Loki.

At her quiet word the table once more goes silent, all questions ceasing, and Loki’s mouth falls open in shock.

“Pardon?” he asks after clearing his throat and regaining his composure.  “Okay?  What do you mean by this?  Do you even know what I’m asking of you?  After months of refusing to acknowledge this threat now you give me ‘okay?’”

“I mean okay,” Eleanor says, shrugging.  “Whatever you think we need to do, that’s what we’ll do.  You’re right.  It’s getting worse and we don’t know anything and this is the real deal.  I’ll do whatever you think we should do.”

“Just like that?” asks Loki.

“Yeah.”

He abruptly turns his chair and then hers so they are facing each other, knees touching.  The speed of the movement makes Eleanor squeak and then Loki is leaning forward, nose inches from hers, and caging her in with his hands clutching her arm rests.  His eyes are hidden behind sunglasses, but she can tell by the twitch of his jaw and the set of his mouth that he is suspicious.

“Why now?” he murmurs, his quiet tone more threatening than yelling ever could be.

“Don’t be mad,” Eleanor says.  His jaw ticks again, indicating that he is already furious.

“I make no promises.”

“It wasn’t just the one dream,” she confesses, dropping her gaze to her lap.  “It’s happened a couple times since.  Just the same darkness, nothing new, but it has happened again.”

“And you did not tell me.”

It’s been a very long time since she’s seen him this angry.

“There was nothing new!  And, okay, my denial was a bit absurd.  But I had another dream last night, still nothing new, and I can’t ignore it anymore so I am saying okay.  Where is this somewhere safe?”

For a few moments it looks like Loki is going to lose his shit, but then he crumples before her.  She can practically see the rage drain from him, replaced instead by fear and exhaustion.

Slumping back in his chair, Loki removes his sunglasses and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes.  His misery is apparent and Eleanor leans over to squeeze each of his knees.

“In the future you will give me every detail,” he says.  “The moment you wake I must have every detail.”

“Yes, dear,” murmurs Eleanor.

“I don’t get it,” Darcy declares suddenly despite the tension of the moment.  “I know everyone has been freaking out for months because your creepy dad had some weirdo dreams, but I just don’t get it.  What’s so scary about a dream?”

Eleanor shivers.  Loki glares.

“I mean, yeah, nightmares suck but then you wake up and it’s over.”  Darcy glances frantically around the table.  “Right?  Right!”

“Darcy,” Steve says quietly, reaching out to rub her back.  “You just fixed a space bridge to another planet.”

“Realm,” corrects Tony. 

“I am a senior citizen frozen for decades and that jerk somehow landed a swell gal like Eleanor, despite being a magical, megalomaniacal alien who tried to enslave the human race five years ago,” Steve continues.  “I, for one, am willing to consider just about anything at this point.”

“Dreams are not simply dreams,” Loki says, searching Eleanor’s face.  “Not for those with magic like Eleanor and Bragi.  They can warn.  They can predict.  They can haunt.”

Loki takes a deep breath.  Everyone listens with rapt attention. 

“Her dreams, her father’s dreams, I know not what they mean and this is dangerous.  Equally concerning are the nighttime trances.  Although I do not doubt my ability to keep Eleanor away from London, I do not know how long it will be before whatever wants her there will come for her here, and this is a risk I am unwilling to take.”

He leans forward, taking Eleanor’s face between his hands.  “Enough, now, Eleanor.  Enough.”

“Where is the somewhere safe, Loki?” Eleanor asks again.  There is sinking in her chest because she already knows the answer.

He takes a big breath, grimacing as if he is in pain. 

“Asgard,” he says.  “We have to go to Asgard.”

* * *

 

“You can’t use it,” says Director Fury when he arrives at the compound, mere hours after Loki’s breakfast declaration that they would be going back to Asgard. 

Eleanor vaguely recalls the argument and then the decision to call in the head of SHIELD, but everything is blurring together. 

“You’re not going anywhere until you give us everything you know about what’s coming,” says Nick Fury.  “You can’t use the Bifrost.  You can’t use it.”

Eleanor sits at her desk in the lab, feeling like a ghost as she watches her friends argue her fate.  Shock keeps her silent, even if their words don’t really matter.

They don’t want her to leave, don’t understand how she could so easily uproot her life at the seemingly irrational request of her paranoid alien lover.  They don’t understand that to pull off this move, Loki will have to set aside all pride and hurt.  He’ll have to beg the Allfather to take them in, and for Loki to do something so repugnant, the situation must be bad.

Plus, they don’t dream her dreams.  They don’t wake up in a pool all the goddamn time.  They don’t see the depth of Loki’s fear.

There isn’t much to tell Director Fury, other than her uninformative dreams and freaky trances and the warning of her wayward bio-daddy, but Loki is certain of this danger and she is certain of him.

So when Loki decided that Asgard would be the safest place for her, Eleanor said yes, after months of living with her head in the sand.  She’ll say yes to anything he asks in this, as much as it pains her to give up the lovely, simple life they’ve built here in this desert. 

Loki paces around the lab as the assembled members of SHIELD and the Avengers bicker as if they truly have any say in this decision.  Tony and Steve do the majority to the explaining, filing in Fury on Bragi’s warnings and Eleanor’s sleepwalking to London, as well as Steve’s failure to find anything in the English city.

The director is not pleased that the pair of superheroes has been conspiring with the being that tried to enslave the world without his knowledge.

Every few minutes Loki comes close to her seat, resting a hand on the back of her head before dragging it down her neck to squeeze her shoulder.  It’s as if he is reassuring himself that she is real and here and safe.

“Fury is a fool to assume that the Bifrost is the only means for us to travel between worlds,” he whispers in her ear as Fury continues to rant.  “But this is a fact I would rather keep from the Allfather.  It will do nothing to sway him to our cause if we appeared in Asgard without warning.  I deeply regret my decision to help these mortals control the bridge.  They use my expertise against me now.”

Eleanor nods as Loki resumes his pacing.

“Wait, we are missing the real issue here,” says Jane.  “Eleanor, are you sure you want to do this?  You have a life here.  What about your degree?”

The little stab of disappointment at Eleanor heart is easily ignored as she lets go this latest dream.  “A silly piece of paper,” she murmurs, making Jane scoff.  It is more than silly, but Eleanor has little left to learn about music at the university.  “There’s music on Asgard.  A whole different world of sounds.  Right, sweetheart?”

Without breaking stride, Loki nods.

“But they hate you, right?” Darcy, says.  “They think you are some sort of abomination.  Isn’t that more dangerous than some dream?”

“They are not simple dreams, you foolish little twit.”  Loki’s voice is quiet, but dangerous.  “How many times must you pose this useless inquiry?  This is the beginning of something far more sinister.”

“Is it this titan you muttered about when you were insane in Stark Tower?” demands Fury with absolutely no tact.

Loki scowls.  “We know not.  Eleanor’s father doubted this theory, but we have very little information and I am unwilling to rule out anything.”

“And if it is the titan?  Don’t you think that’s something we should know about?” Fury pushes.

“And if it is the titan that comes for Eleanor,” Loki snarls, looming behind her chair, “he will strip her body of flesh and scorch what he finds beneath. He will soil her mind through a crippling, endless loneliness and whispers that make every doubt, every insecurity absolute truth.  After lifetimes she will emerge twisted, the very worst possible version of herself.  Her purpose will not be to rule this pathetic realm or procure the Tesseract, but she will be molded in his vision to both punish me for my failure and manipulate me into further servitude.”

She can’t really believe that he’s revealed so much.  It’s shameful really, how long it took her to realize that Loki is terrified enough to speak of these past horrors.

Eleanor has never heard him sound so menacing and despite the distance separating them from Fury on the other side of the lab, the director palms the gun at his hip.

“Loki,” she murmurs, turning in her chair and reaching out for him.  He does not glance at her, but he lets her lace their fingers together.  This is the first time in all their years together that she’s heard him willingly discuss his time in the Void and to do so now in front of these people is stunning. 

His soft spoken, horrifying words make Eleanor’s chest hurt.

“And I would do anything to get her back, no matter how damaged she may be,” Loki continues.  “You think I was dangerous before, with nothing to lose?  None will survive with something so vitally important to me at stake.”

Loki holds her hand too tight, clenching his jaw and looking to the ceiling. 

“And for all we know, this may very well be something much worse,” he whispers, staring down at Eleanor.

The silence in the room does nothing to dampen the ringing in Eleanor’s ears and the temperature drops several degrees.  No one moves for long moments, save for Loki who kneels in front of Eleanor.

“You’re scaring me,” she murmurs.  He holds her shaking hands but can’t still them.  Suddenly loving him seems so much more dangerous.  She shudders, thinking of the consequences for the whole universe if something bad should happen to her.

“Good.  You should be scared.  They all should be scared.  Even if it is not the titan, even if by some miracle this is not my doing, you are wrapped up in something dangerous, Eleanor, and I cannot keep you safe here.”

In a daze, Eleanor nods, but she is barely able to return his quick, gentle kiss before he is up and pacing again. 

Director Fury is the first to recover from Loki’s haunting diatribe.  “So,” he says. “Let’s say it is the asshole who sent the Chitauri, who sent you.  If he still wants the Tesseract, why would he care about us?  We don’t have it.   Asgard does.”

“I do not understand why you insist discussing him,” Loki says.  Eleanor wonders if she is the only one to notice Loki’s pale cheeks.  “But Midgard defied him.  You delayed his plans.  I am sure you will be punished accordingly in due time.  I know not how or when, nor do I particularly care.”

“Loki,” Eleanor admonishes. 

“If his goal is the Tesseract and the Tesseract is on Asgard, wouldn’t Ellie be safer here?” Steve asks.

Loki chuckles, turning to face the man out of time.  “My magic can only go so far in this barren wasteland.  Asgard, and the palace in particular, is infused with ancient protection.  Asgard will prove a much safer place for Eleanor, despite the location of the Tesseract.  The Chitauri were defeated, but Asgard is much better equipped to protect itself from whatever is sent next.”

“Don’t you mean you were defeated?” asks Steve. 

“Yes, my dear captain.  I was defeated,” Loki says, smirking.  He is pacing again.

“We gotta know what you know, Loki,” Director Fury says. 

Loki shivers, but stays silent. 

“You helping us will help keep Eleanor safe,” Tony says.

Sighing heavily, Loki slows his pacing to look at Eleanor.  She shrugs.

“Fine,” Loki snaps.  “I know little and my limited knowledge will not save you, but if it please my lady I will speak with you before we depart.”

“Good.  And then you can use the Bifrost,” Fury says.

“If it even works,” Jane mutters.

“It will work,” Loki snaps.

“And even if it does work, are you so sure you’ll be welcome?” Jane asks.

“Welcome?” Loki says with a rueful smile.  “Oh no.  I expect to immediately be returned to a white cell.  A small price to pay for Eleanor’s safety.”

Eleanor frowns. There is no way in fuck that she’s letting Loki go back to a place where he was so out of his mind, but she keeps her mouth shut.

Suddenly she is so thankful to her friends for asking all these questions because she can’t manage to do it herself.  She is so fucking out of it.

“We haven’t seen Thor in a year, Loki,” Jane says.  “What makes you think he’ll take you in?  I mean, since the whole Bifrost debacle you guys aren’t exactly on the best terms.”

Loki stares at Jane before glancing back at Eleanor.  For a moment, he looks like a lost child but then he stomps out of the lab, into the vast circular space that serves as the gate to other worlds.

He waves his hand around his head, melting away his own protective magic, and looks up.

“Heimdall,” he says, talking so quietly that it’s difficult to hear him even with the great sliding glass doors left open.  “We request the thunder god’s presence, if you’d be so kind.”

He turns on his heel, stalking back into the lab to stand behind Eleanor, his hands on her shoulders.  The contact calms her slightly, but not enough to dispel the churning sickness eating away at her insides.

It is only a few minutes before lights blink and machines whirl.  Thor’s picture and information appears on Jane’s computer screen, requesting permission to allow him through the gate.

“It’s working?  It’s working!  It’s working?” Jane chants out the mantra as she enters a password, her words fluctuating between joy and panic.

Eleanor glances up at Loki to see him smirking for a moment before he seems to remember their current circumstances, composing his expression into a detached mask once more.

In a blinding swirl of brilliant light the God of Thunder materializes.  He pauses for a moment, making note of each person in the lab.  And then he is filling up the doorway, smiling at Tony and Steve in a way that doesn’t seem very genuine.  He doles out more false smiles and nods.  When he gets to Jane his face falls and he stops.

“Lady Jane,” he says, bowing slightly.

“Lady?” She snorts, crossing her arms over her chest as she scowls up at him.  “Really? Lady.”

At least he has the decency to look ashamed as he drops his gaze to the floor.  “I… Ah, yes. Um.  Jane.  Hello, Jane.  How fare thee?”

Under any other circumstances it would be funny and tragic, but Eleanor is about to give up her whole life to go to a realm where they hate her boyfriend and call her an abomination, so nothing is funny.

“How fare I?” squeaks Jane.  “How fare I?  You haven’t been here in a year.  You didn’t contact me at all for a _year_!”

“Jane, I really do not think this is the time—“

“A whole. Fucking. Year!”

“Yes, I suppose this was wrong of me to avoid the issue but I was—“

“Busy?  Are you really about to say busy?  Because you didn’t even write.  And why?  All because I was trying to do the right thing for my home?  For my people?” pushes Jane.  Despite their ridiculous size difference, in this moment Jane appears much stronger than the God of Thunder.  “We have a right to control who enters this realm, Thor.  We have the right to protect ourselves.”

“From whom?” Thor asks glaring now.  “Asgard?  And you still do not see how offensive this is to me?  To my father.  There is no reason to fear the Realm Eternal.  We will continue, now and forever, to take care of Midgard.”

“Do you not hear how ridiculously patronizing that is?  We are not children, Thor, and without giving us a little agency, you are as bad as Loki.”

Loki chuckles.  Eleanor shushes him.

“You’re worse!” continues Jane, firing full steam ahead now.  “Because his reasons may be all wrong but at least he helped.  At least he isn’t a paternalistic asshole.”

Everyone in the room shifts around awkwardly.

“Anymore,” Jane corrects.  “He’s not a paternalistic asshole _anymore_.”

Thor shakes his head and smiles ruefully.  “And you wonder why I neglected to contact you for a year.”

“My brother is such a fool,” Loki mutters in Eleanor’s ear.  She completely agrees with this assessment.

“Wow,” says Jane, crossing her arms over her chest.  “Great.  Okay.  Thanks for the closure.”

“Jane, I—“

“No, I get it.”  Jane holds up a hand, stopping Thor’s apology.  “I disrespected the might of Asgard.  I obviously _deserve_ to be treated like this.”

Thor hangs his head. 

“That was so much better than TV,” Tony says, completely failing to whisper.  Darcy smacks him in the chest.  Fury growls and rubs his temples.

“Excuse me,” Thor finally says to Jane, bowing before he shuffles towards Eleanor and Loki.

Standing to his full height with his massive arms crossed over his massive chest, the Crown Prince of Asgard proves quite the imposing figure.  The warm smile he gives Eleanor makes her feel bad for Jane.

“Lady Eleanor,” he greets.

She manages a tight smile in return, but words remain lost to her.  Nothing that’s happened since this morning feels real.

Loki and Thor have the expected mean staring contest over the top of Eleanor’s head where she sits as still as possible in her swivel chair, but in the end Thor breaks the silence. 

“You have a request of me, bro—”  He frowns and clears his throat.  “Loki.  You have a request of me, Loki?”

Eleanor elbows the God of Smirking in the gut to get him to stop with the pissing contest and reply.

“Why, yes.  How very perceptive of you.”

“Loki,” Eleanor murmurs.

“Well?” demands the Crown Prince.

“Are you sure you are all through berating and belittling the brilliant and beautiful Dr. Foster?”

“Don’t, Loki,” says Jane.  “Just don’t.  This is important.”

Loki glances down at Eleanor and sighs.  “Yes.  I need your help, Brother.”

“After all you’ve done, you dare to ask something of me?  Why should I grant you anything when you have never offered me the same courtesy?” asks Thor.  He seems older than he was a year ago, hard and serious.

The expression on Loki’s face scares Eleanor.  It’s straight up old Loki, complete with the revulsion and distaste, as if he is debasing himself to even speak to his false big brother.

“It is not for me,” he finally manages, leaving off the “you fool” bit, but the reproach is there all the same.

All goodwill between the brothers seems to have evaporated the moment Jane sided with Loki on the Bifrost issue, leaving Thor’s pride damaged.  They may not be able to do more than glower at each other, but as Loki speaks they both stare down at Eleanor.

Despite all the rekindled animosity between the two, they are staring at her with varying degrees of affection.  The brotherly warmth in Thor’s gaze is in stark contrast to Loki’s intense, almost alarming devotion, but Eleanor is struck by how very lucky she is to have such powerful beings on her side.  The same can be said for everyone in the room.

She was alone for so long, but not anymore.  Not ever again.

Loki’s hands are back on her shoulders.

“Lady Eleanor,” Thor says with a sigh.  “What ill-advised situation have you gotten yourself into now?”

She opens her mouth but no sounds come out.  Loki understands and he speaks for her.

“It is no fault of her own,” he murmurs, rubbing her shoulders.  There is a hint of softness back in his sharp features and it gets a bit easier for Eleanor to breathe. 

Loki explains Bragi’s ambiguous warning, Eleanor’s dreams, and his theories.  Thor’s expression gets progressively darker as he listens, bringing a hand up to stroke his chin.

“I have protected her mind,” Loki says.  Eleanor turns to look up at her mercurial love, raising a questioning eyebrow.  This is the first she’s heard of any magical helmet, but it doesn’t surprise her.  “Still she dreams, still she attempts to get to London in her sleep, and there is no doubt that Asgard is the safest of the realms.  It will be no easy thing, for her to be taken from Asgard to London.”

“She would be better off not ever knowing you, Loki,” Thor says quietly.  Loki abruptly stops touching her, but Eleanor is still without the words to make it better.  “This is your doing.  I am sure of it.”

“Of course it is my doing.  Did you expect any different, my liege?”  Loki says with a mocking bow, but Thor stays silent and still as stone.  “More consequences for my actions.  It should please you greatly to see me absolutely brimming with remorse, bending the knee to you and Father to ensure her safety.”

“It does not please me. Not when the contrition comes at the expense of Lady Eleanor.”

“This entire arrangement is at the expense of Eleanor!” Loki shouts, finally losing his composure.  “You had no problem with it when Mother put the notion of bót mannaforráð in her head.  You had no problem when you allowed me to take over every part of her life.”

“Loki,” Eleanor manages.  No one seems to hear her.  Maybe his name didn’t even really pass her lips.  She’ll try again in a moment.

“This was Mother’s doing, not mine,” Thor says.  The golden god’s voice is rising, and with it Eleanor’s anxiety.

 _“Your_ mother’s doing!”

Thor growls.  “Would you prefer a century of solitude, brother?  Are you so eager to destroy yourself?”

“This is not in regards to me, you great blathering fool.  It’s—“

“Loki.”  Eleanor finally finds her voice.  “Please stop,” she asks when he glances down at her.

For a moment his expression crumbles and he reaches out to stroke her cheek, his thumb moving reverently across her cheekbone.

“Loki.”  It seems she’s only able to say his name.  It’s an apology and a plea.

He kisses her forehead.  “It is all right, Eleanor,” he whispers.  “Have no fear.  Please.”

She nods and manages to stand.  Her knees wobble only a little as she comes to stand at Loki’s side, lacing their fingers together.

“I will return to the white cells,” Loki says.  He sounds like a robot.  “I will issue a public apology, allow the thrice damned stitches, and endure any other humiliation you and Odin may devise in exchange for all the protection Asgard has to offer.”

Yeah, Eleanor really doesn’t like the sound of any of that.

“Few on Asgard are keen to see you return, prisoner or otherwise.  Tell me, why should I do this for you?”

Eleanor knows exactly what Thor wants to hear, although she is surprised to see such blatant manipulation from the jovial god.  Loki knows it too, if the look on his face is any indication. 

Clenching his jaw so tight she worries about his teeth, Loki looks at the ceiling for a long moment before staring down at Eleanor.

She shrugs.

“Because you claim to have some misplaced, lingering scrap of affection for me,” Loki says as if each word will kill him.  Eleanor shakes her head because that was pathetically weak, and Loki shrugs at her in response.

Thor waits patiently.  “Attempt it once more, Loki.”

“Because you care for her as well,” Loki murmurs.

“An accurate statement,” Thor muses.  “With great ease we could sever your bond and bring Eleanor only under Asgardian protection, leaving you to your fate.”

Loki pales, but doesn’t offer any protest.  Everyone else is on the verge of freaking out, but Eleanor speaks before the room can explode with protests.

“No,” she says simply.

Thor frowns.

Loki groans.  “Eleanor, my dear—“

“No.  Fuck that.  I’m not going anywhere without you, Loki, oh God of Ridiculousness.  Just tell him what he wants to hear.  It’s the truth anyway,” Eleanor says, thankful that her voice hasn’t once more abandoned her in this moment of great need.

“Eleanor,” he says in his stern, do as I say, control freak voice.

“No,” she says again.  “I’m not going to another freaking realm without you.  It isn’t an option.  And I doubt Fury is going to let you stay here without me and my commands.”

Everyone looks to the director.  He nods his confirmation.

Scowling all the while at Eleanor, Loki swallows his pride and answers Thor’s question.   “You should do this for me because of our… history.”  Eleanor nods encouragingly and Loki doesn’t look away from her.  “Because the one thing that is truly mine in this universe is threatened and there is no one else capable of protecting her as you can.”

“Because he’ll freak out and destroy said universe if anything happens to Madonna over there,” puts in Tony.

Eleanor shoots him a glare but the godly brothers ignore the interruption.

“Because you once called me brother,” finishes Loki, really fucking uncomfortable.  Still, he flashes this strange little smile.  

“Because Mother would have my head if I acted otherwise,” says Thor, returning the funny smile. But then he is scowling and serious once more.  “I must discuss this with Father.”

“Your father.”

“Yes, Loki.  I must discuss this with my father.”

Loki closes his eyes and nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asgard? Asgard! Are we headed back to Asgard, do you think?
> 
> Thank you so very much for reading.
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr! jaxington.tumblr.com


	6. Without Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1st beta: Heather  
> Final beta: Erica

The Tates are not pleased, but at least Eleanor says goodbye this time. 

Loki wanted to depart a day after Thor returned with a laundry list of conditions, saying that Odin has agreed to take them in if Loki would return to his white cell.  Loki quickly agreed but Eleanor stayed silent. 

She wanted at least a month to get their affairs in order, which, of course, made Loki flip out. 

In the end they settled on two weeks, giving Eleanor the opportunity to visit her family.

Mama Maureen and Laura don’t really understand, but Eleanor promises to stay safe and send updates through Jane as often as possible.  They want similar promises for visits, but Eleanor can’t lie to them.  She doubts Loki will be allowed to come and go as he pleases, and Eleanor will certainly not be leaving him alone on a hostile realm.

They return from a long weekend full of Tates to find the Avengers gathered at the compound. All of them.

It is strange to see Natasha, Clint, and Bruce.  Thor is back, avoiding Jane and looking grim.  Eleanor worries that Steve and Tony stuck around to talk her out of the move, but something about the way Loki talked about Eleanor convinced them just as it convinced her.

He was shockingly open and so earnest, both about his fears and feelings.  He loves her, of course.  She’s known this for a long time, even if he’s never said the words.

She’s not one for words.

It becomes clear that the Avengers have assembled for the first time in years to hear Loki’s account of this titan character.  He fulfills his promise, despite the obvious toll it will take on his mental wellbeing. 

They gather in a windowless room in the basement of the main building of the complex. Eleanor would be more comfortable in the lab.  Nothing will make this more comfortable for Loki, however.

No one, save for Eleanor and Tony, seem to notice Loki’s shaking hands or pale, clammy skin.  Thor might as well, but he is standing directly behind Loki and Eleanor, lurking by the door, so she can’t see his face without turning around constantly.

Eleanor doesn’t learn much, for there isn’t much to tell.  The few details he does provide are not new information to her.  She was able to piece together this much over the years.

Still, there is something extremely disturbing about Loki’s emotionless, controlled description of the creature that unmade and remade Loki in his image.

“His mistress is Death,” Loki murmurs, in a sort of daze.  He doesn’t even notice when she takes his hand.  “And his sole ambition is to make you welcome her, beg for her in the final, painful moments of your life.”

“What does he want?” asks Cap.

Loki turns, dull eyes on the man out of time.  “Did I not just say?  To deliver every living being to his mistress, his victims seeing it as mercy rather than an end.  He corrupts life, makes every breath and heartbeat and thought unbearable.  Simple pain and isolation will do for mortals, although I can only assume he uses different tactics for different beings. As a Frost Giant, fire was particularly painful for me.  And he twisted around my memory in addition to the rest.”

Eleanor notices her own tears.

“So,” says Tony after a few beats of horrified silence.  “This guy wants to kill everyone in the most torturous way possible?  To please his girlfriend.  Death.”

“Yes,” Loki says, annoyed now that they don’t seem to be getting it.  He glances at Eleanor as if to say “these are the fools that bested me?  I am deeply shamed.”

Nausea churns in Eleanor’s gut. 

Although Loki’s phrases are facts, essentially he is detailing his time tortured, how he was remade into the worst possible version of himself.  He has very little practical knowledge to offer, but that does little to stop the Avengers from asking questions.

“How can we kill him?”

“What is his plan?”

“When will he attack?”

“How will he attack?”

Loki does not know, yet they continue to ask, all yammering at him, talking over each other as they struggle to be heard.

“That’s enough,” Eleanor says.

No one stops.  She can be louder.  She will be louder.  As soon as breathing gets a bit easier.

“Silence!”  Thor’s booms reverberated in the windowless room, making Eleanor jump in her seat.

There is silence for a moment.

“That’s enough,” Eleanor repeats.

“What the hell is she even doing here, Director?” demands Clint Barton.  

“I go where he goes,” Eleanor says with false sweetness.  “And he goes where I go.  Right now, I’m going home.”

“Eleanor—“

She doesn’t let Fury continue.  “We’ve been at it for hours.  This is exhausting and sickening.  If I have to sit here and listen to this for another second, I’m going to fucking lose it.  I know you’re scared, but he doesn’t have any answers.  Yelling in our general direction isn’t going to help.”

The Hawk in particularly doesn’t believe Loki to be sharing everything, and Eleanor forgives him because he was a brainwashed minion, but Loki’s on the verge of totally falling apart.

This is not how decent people treat victims of abuse.

“Lady Eleanor is correct,” Thor says.  “Let them be.  You have all the information there is to be had.  Enough.”

No one likes to argue with the God of Thunder.  It must be nice to be so big and loud.

Eleanor pulls Loki out of his seat and towards the door.  Eleanor shares a look with Thor as they pass.  Tears silently run down his cheeks.

Eleanor wonders if Loki’s noticed.

“Eleanor, Loki,” says the thunder god.  “I must return home to make preparations.  I expect to see you in two days’ time.”

She nods and gets Loki the hell out of there.

By the time they get outside the sun has set and Loki’s having a hard time breathing.  She was hoping to get him home before the panic really seized him.  Instead she pulls him into the backseat of her jeep, sitting behind him so she can get her arms around him.  With one hand placed over his heart, she holds him tightly and takes deep, even breaths.

“I’m real, Loki, and so are you.  We are here in the backseat of the jeep, about to go home.”  In the past she’d tell him that he’s safe, but she can’t manage the words, given how their lives have changed since his last panic attack.

Her soothing words do nothing to calm him down and Loki claws at the buttons of his shirt.  Understanding his need, she pops the first few, placing her hand against his exposed skin.  As she starts to sing, his breathing evens out and his heart rate slows against her palm.

“Let us depart, Eleanor,” he murmurs.  “Before your meddling friends accost me with their queries once more.”

They drive for a few silent minutes before Eleanor finds her words.

“I can’t believe you talked about it,” she says.  “You never talk about it.”

Loki shudders.  “And I never will again.”

She wonders what is worse for him, talking about past traumas or the prospect of returning to Asgard.

“Thank you,” she says.  When she tries to take his hand he jerks away from her.

“I am ripping you away from all you know and love for the second time.  Do not thank me.”

“Not everything I know and love,” she whispers.

They pull into the garage and Loki is out of the vehicle before it even comes to a complete stop.  She watches him stalk around the house and up the bluff before slowly moving inside, wandering from room to room and trying to say goodbye.

Inside the home Loki magicked for them is a mess of half packed boxes and piles designated for Goodwill or storage.  Eleanor has no idea how long they’ll be gone – this very well could be permanent – but she wants all their personal belongings to be moved to the basement so Jane and Darcy can live here in their absence.  Loki isn’t thrilled about the girls taking up residence here, but the thought of their beautiful home sitting empty is abhorrent to Eleanor.

They are taking very little with them.  Loki will bring his books and Eleanor will bring her instruments.  Loki can disappear their stuff into some sort of magical storage unit to be accessed when they get to Asgard.

They leave in two days and there is so much to do.

Glancing out the window, Eleanor sees Loki perched on his rock, staring determinedly at the sky. 

She packs up a few boxes of kitchen stuff, hauling them into the basement.  Loki could accomplish this with ease, either by his magic or his superhuman strength, but the physical labor is necessary to keep her mind occupied after the last horrible hours.

The kitchen is finished, all packed away and stored.  It’s getting late but Loki is still on his rock.  Sleep without him is impossible given the danger lurking in her dreams.  She briefly considers the piano, but she’s feeling too fragile.

Loki needs her to keep it together for the next two days and playing will make it impossible to keep her volatile emotions at bay.

Instead, she drags herself upstairs and tackles her wardrobe.  She dumps out the entire contents of her closet on their bed and begins to sort.

The donation and charity piles grow much larger than those that get packed into a suitcase that will make the move.

She owns far too much stuff.

Eleanor puzzles over her shorter dresses.  Asgardian ladies are all about the long, flowing gowns, beautifully draped columns of silk and ornate beading.  Apparently, exposing skin above the waist is perfectly fine on Asgard but bare legs are totally scandalous.  Her shorter dresses are indecent in the world of the gods, but Eleanor hesitates to put them in the storage pile.

“Eleanor.”  For the first time in years his silent appearance startles her.  She squeaks and jumps, nearly falling off the bed where she’s seated with a hunter green garment in her lap.

He stands directly behind her, gently pushing her more firmly onto the bed.

“You plan to bring all this?” he asks, gesturing to the giant suitcase. 

Eleanor nods.

“Mother will surely have more appropriate attire awaiting you.”

“But I like these clothes,” she murmurs.  “You like me in these clothes.  Maybe I’ll just wear them around you.”

“When you visit me in the white cells, you mean?” he asks.  Suddenly he sounds so damn tired.  Eleanor leans back into his solid body.  “I would be forced to commit a whole new round of egregious crimes if any saw you in such attire.  Burning out eyes is generally frowned upon on Asgard.  Shocking, I know.”

Eleanor smiles despite herself and puts the dress with the piles of clothes that will make the move.

“You never know,” she explains as he frowns.  “Just because I bring it doesn’t mean I’ll wear it.”

“Bring whatever you wish, my love,” he says, lips moving against her ear.  “Whatever pleases my songbird.”

They cannot have the things that will truly please her.  She wants a guarantee of Loki’s safety as well as her own.  She wants to stay here, living the simple life they’ve built together.  She wants to spare Loki all pain and hurt and fear.

“Will you be able to sleep?” he asks, pushing aside her hair to give his mouth access to her neck.  She closes her eyes, comforted by his touch.  “With me miles beneath your feet?  Languishing in my white cell?”

“I’ll sleep with you,” she says.

Loki sighs heavily and abandons her neck to pace around their messy room. 

Sleeping without him will not be an issue, but Eleanor keeps her plans to herself.  They are entering a tenuous situation on the Realm Eternal, and Eleanor is unwilling to further add to Loki’s anxiety by divulging her semi reckless scheming.

Plus, he’ll try to talk her out of her own little plot.

“More denial, Eleanor? Do you truly understand what our new living situation will entail?  Do you understand what you are giving up?”

“Yes.”

“You will be a captive animal in a gilded cell, a beautiful caged bird.  You will lose your freedom,” he explains for the hundredth time.  “But you will be much safer than you are here.”

“And I’ll be with you,” she says.

“Near me,” he corrects.  “I will not even be granted even the illusion of freedom.  There will be no luxury about my cage.”

_Not gonna happen._

“Why do you keep trying to talk me out of this?” she asks, suddenly annoyed.  This is difficult enough without him reminding her every three seconds.

“Mentally preparing you,” he replies.  “I detest that I am trapping you in yet another forced arrangement.  If I was a good man, I’d give you choices as I know this is not what you want, but I see no other way to keep you with me. Near me at the very least.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart.”

Sighing all the while, he moves to sit beside her on the edge of their bed.

“What do you want, Eleanor?” he whispers in her ear.

“You,” she says without hesitation.

Eyes flickering closed, Loki drops his forehead to her knees as she threads her fingers through his hair. 

“That you have,” he whispers.  The admission is difficult for him but it pleases Eleanor endlessly.  “A poor prize, I’m sure.  What else do you desire?”

He lifts his head to meet her gaze.  Although he still looks grim, there is such affection in his expression and it melts Eleanor slightly.

“In an ideal world, what would you desire?” he asks again.

“I’d keep this life, just as it is,” she admits, making him frown.

“This I cannot give you.”

“I know.”

“Would you choose to stay with your family?  If you could?”  The question seems so hard for him.  “If I could keep you there, safe and with them?”

“No.”  This time she hesitates before answering.

“With me you will never have anything like you were trying to have here.  Nothing like what the normal humans have.”

“I’m not a normal human, Loki.  And we’ll be okay.  We will.  I go where you go and we’ll be fine.”

With a great breath of relief, Loki pulls her into his lap.  He holds her close and she returns his embrace.

“The Avengers think I lie, that I am bringing you back for some nefarious purpose, yet you believed in only a matter of moments that my motives are pure.  You were so quick to agree to leave this place after months of denial.  Why?” he asks.

Smiling, Eleanor touches his cheek.

“Because you asked me to,” she replies.

“That’s— Is that… all?”

Eleanor nods.

“Eleanor…”

“Hush,” she says.  “If not for me you’d disappear and be fine.”

Loki snorts.  “Unlikely.  If not for you I’d be four long years into a century of solitude.”

“Still, you are forced to do all these things you hate to do.  You had to beg Thor and Odin to take me in.  You had to talk about the Void with people you hate.  You’re prepared to live in a cell for the foreseeable future.  It could be years, decades, before we figure this out and you are willing to give up everything to keep me safe.”

“You forget I am the reason for the peril you are in.”

“Maybe. We don’t know that it has anything to do with you.”

“I need you safe.  Would you expect any less?”

She smiles.  “No.  Not at all.”

Loki sighs and pushes Eleanor back until she is lying on a pile of dresses.  He wraps himself around her, pushing his face into her neck.

“Are you okay?  This afternoon was excruciating to listen too.  I can’t even imagine talking about it,” she murmurs.  A hanger digs into her back but Loki is calm so she doesn’t move.

“It is over now, Eleanor.  I endured that, as I will endure my return to the white cells.”

He isn’t going back to the white cells but Eleanor simply kisses his forehead and lets him rest.

 

* * *

 

 

She wakes up when her head hits the water.

No matter how many times she gets yanked out of what feels like sleep in the pool, she will never get used to it.  This time is no less jarring then the first.

Gasping for breath, she wipes water from her eyes and stares up at Loki, glowering on the deck.

“It is nearly dawn,” he says, turning to go back inside.  “I shall finish packing your instruments. It is our last day on Midgard.  I suppose it is time we start it.”

Eleanor nods and swims for the steps.  He’s left her a folded towel on a deck chair and she pulls it around her shaking shoulders, hoping with everything she has that Loki is right about Asgard.

 

* * *

 

 

“How long will you be gone?” Darcy asks, voice low and unnaturally quiet.  Maybe she doesn’t want to wake the doctor who sleeps with her head in Eleanor’s lap. 

Wine and girl talk have done in Jane, it seems.

“Maybe years,” Eleanor replies, sobered by Darcy’s question.  Tomorrow they leave their simple life for one of persecution on the Realm Eternal.  It strikes Eleanor in this innocuous moment, making her limbs feel heavy.  “Maybe forever.”

“You won’t visit?  Not even for the big stuff?  What if I finally make an honest man out of Cap?”

Eleanor giggles.  “I’ll try to convince the old ball and chain that it’s worth the risk to see Cap in a dress.”

“My superhero would look hot in anything,” Darcy says.  “Tulle and all.”

They both laugh again at the visual, and Darcy pours the rest of the bottle into their glasses.

“Once things settle down you’ll have to come visit,” Eleanor says.  “Bring your superhero.”

If that sort of thing will even be allowed.

“Fuck yes,” replies Darcy.

Eleanor cries a little because these are the women that taught her friendship.  She isn’t leaving them happily.

“I’m sorry,” she says, drying her cheeks.  “I haven’t let myself freak out yet.”

“Why the hell not?  Freak outs are healthy,” says Darcy, sipping her wine.

“Loki is freaking out enough for the both of us.  Someone had to suck it up and make inconsequential decisions.  Like what to pack,” Eleanor says, calming.  “I’ll freak out when we get there.”

“The one good thing here is the house.  I am so stoked to move into your house.  Loki would be a BAMF architect if, you know, he wasn’t a reforming alien warlord hunted by the guy banging Death,” Darcy muses.

Eleanor chokes on her wine.  “Banging Death?  Who told you that?”

“Cap.”

“Steve said that Thanos is _banging_ Death?”

“Well, he didn’t put it quite so eloquently.”

“Fuck, Darcy,” Eleanor says.  “I’m going to miss you.”

When the glass doors to the lab slide open, Eleanor and Darcy are awkwardly hugging with a still asleep Jane between them.  Loki makes a little sound of disgust and Eleanor turns to give him a rueful smile.

“Hot,” says Tony Stark. 

Loki punches him in the shoulder, sending the world’s shortest superhero stumbling into the world’s first. 

“Know your strength,” Tony mutters.  “Know your fucking strength.”

“Oh, I know it,” Loki replies, coming close to frowning down at Eleanor.

“I’m okay,” she says, reaching up to pat his stomach.

“You are crying and inebriated and hanging all over someone who is decidedly not me.”

“Thank God,” says Steve.

“No need to thank me,” says Loki, more out of habit than anything else.

Eleanor tugs on Loki’s sleeve before a catfight can break out.  “Did you win buckets of money?” she asks.

“Hardly,” Loki drawls.  “Although I won with ease, we played poker for, ah,” he clears his throat, “street cred.”

Eleanor giggles.  The sound reminds her of her own intoxication as Darcy hums an off key version of Gaga’s _Poker Face_.  Loki frowns down at Jane, sprawled out on the couch, her head still in Eleanor’s lap.

“Lightweight,” she says.

Loki raises a questioning eyebrow and Eleanor nods.  He lifts the good doctor with less care than Eleanor would like.  Still, he is remarkably gentle enough to keep her from waking, and then he’s gone, poofing away.

“Fuck,” says Tony, clutching his chest.  “I hate it when he does that.”

He is back a moment later without Jane and Iron Man screams a little.

“Did you tuck her in?” Eleanor asks.  “Cover her with a blanket at least?”

“Of course not!”  He is horrified.

She gives him a look and he sighs heavily before popping off again. 

Tony makes a sound imitating a cracking whip.

“Dude,” says Darcy, getting up and stretching.  “You’re one to talk.  Have you met your girlfriend?”  She moves to kiss Steve in a way that makes the poor man turn bright red and then Loki is back, pulling Eleanor to her feet.

“Shall we go home?” he murmurs, pulling her hair out of the ponytail and tucking it behind her ears.  The word _home_ has her tear up again because tomorrow they’ll leave it for a different and hostile realm.

Worst of all, she is half a freaky alien from said different and hostile realm.  She’s probably going to have to deal with that at some point.

Eleanor manages a nod and Loki bends to collect her purse, rummaging for a moment to find her keys. 

They bid their friends goodnight.

“Did our separation for the evening please you?” Loki asks as they drive.

“Yes.  It was my last night with Jane and Darcy.”

“It is also your last night with me,” he mutters. 

Letting her head loll back against the headrest, she studies him.  His distress is palpable and Eleanor considers filling him in on her plan, but decides against it.

Instead, she palms him, lips moving against his neck.  He swerves slightly on the dirt road that leads home, and Eleanor feels him shiver.

“Night’s not over, sweetheart,” she says in his ear. 

Loki pulls over abruptly, throwing the jeep into park and pulling her onto his lap with such speed Eleanor’s drunk brain has a very difficult time understanding the new position.  When he kisses her, hips coming off the seat to grind into her, she finally gets it.

The way he clings to her now, the way he kisses her as if he’ll never get to do it again, reminds her of their time in the bunker all those years ago when he hated the way he needed something from her and she hated herself wanting anything from him.

She wants to tell him that everything will be okay, that they will be all right, but instead she tugs on his hair and kisses him back.

Loki magicks off her dress and doesn’t let her catch a breath.  Eleanor is somewhat shocked to realize her god is as scared as he is desperate.  Again, she thinks about filling him in on her scheming.

“Loki.”  She breaks away, trying to calm him but then he is kissing her again, his hands everywhere, and she gives up on talking, yielding to his groping with equally needy touches of her own.

And it’s so good, but at the same time it isn’t because Loki is shaking and terrified.  She lets his desperation control the encounter, all frantic touches and scraping teeth, until he’s free from his pants and Eleanor is sinking down onto him, watching as his eyes roll back in his head.

“Stop,” she whispers.

He whimpers, but stills his frenzied movements anyway, even as he glares up at her.  His eyes are not open, but somehow he manages to glare up at her.

The temptation to roll her hips is fucking _strong_ , filled up the way she is, but she waits until he’s looking at her.

“Eleanor.”  He is begging, pleading, and Eleanor kisses the corner of his mouth.  Finally his eyes are open.

“It’s you and me,” she says, tracing his cheekbones with her thumbs.  “I promise.  Always, Loki.  It’s you and me.”

Wide-eyed and still so frightened, Loki nods.

“Believe it,” she says, tilting her hips and moving up in his lap.  Loki groans when she sinks back down.  She does it again.  And again.  “Always.  Always,” she chants until she can’t form words anymore.

His hands find her hips, fingers digging into her skin, but not demanding anything.   He holds her gaze, even when he kisses her, even when he is panting and writhing beneath her.

She finds her words again because it feels important and even if she’s not fully aware of what she’s saying as she rides him in the front seat of the jeep, she makes him promises, praises him, begs him to believe her.

When it’s over, she wraps her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly as they once more catch their breath.

“This isn’t the end, Loki,” she murmurs into his hair.  “I promise.”

The position is horribly uncomfortable, with her legs bent on either side of his thighs, jammed into the driver’s seat, but Eleanor isn’t willing to move yet, not with Loki still so shaken.

This was more the reaction she expected yesterday after his painful confession.

She pulls back, needing to see him.  His eyes are closed, but she can tell by the way he clenches his jaw that he is far from all right.

“I’m with you,” she says.  “We’re together here and we’ll be together on Asgard.”

Loki scoffs.  “Asgard will change you, Eleanor.  They will change what you feel for me.”

“Things will definitely change,” she agrees.  “But not this.  I’m yours, Loki, like you’re mine, and that isn’t going to change.  You can’t get rid of me that easy.”

As if physically reacting to her words, he holds her a little tighter.

“And I won’t give you up either,” she says, shifting in his lap.  The wetness between her legs leaves her uncomfortably cold and the steering wheel is digging into her ass.   “Some snarky assholes and their opinions aren’t gonna change that.  They don’t know you.  I do.”

He smiles at her as if she is a silly, naïve child, but then she is magically cleaned up and Loki ends the moment.  She shivers as he helps her back into her own seat, silently handing her his discarded suit jacket.  She drowns in it, but Loki’s smell is all around her and she is content.

They go home for the last time for a long time.

“Hey,” she says, taking his hand as they reach the front porch.  “The night’s not over.  Let’s give our house a proper goodbye.”

This smile is genuine and Eleanor will let herself freak out when they get there.

 

* * *

 

 

The night before their departure Loki is once more forced to toss his beloved into the water to get her back.

It will be the last time this is necessary.  He is sure of it.

* * *

 

Loki says nothing as Eleanor exchanges a tearful farewell with Jane and Darcy, but her obvious anguish grates on his already frayed nerves.  Her distress begets his distress, and he clenches his jaw, resisting the urge to shake his songbird until her tears dry and she once more gives him her smile. 

The women release one another, and Thor’s ex-whore wraps her arms around Loki.  In his shock, he stays stiff and unresponsive.

“Thank you,” she says through her tears.  “I couldn’t have completed this project without you.  I learned so much.”

Loki manages a nod and gives her back a quick pat. 

“You take care of her, Loki.  She’s not nearly as brave as she is pretending to be,” murmurs Jane Foster as she finally releases him.

Eleanor receives more embraces while Loki shakes the Man of Iron’s hand.

“You keep us posted,” he says.  “Maybe we can help each other out, yeah?”

Once more, Loki nods.

It seems that in this moment his silver tongue truly has turned to lead.  Like Eleanor, in his fear and discomfort he seems to have lost the ability to speak. 

In a few short moments he will return to the realm that once served as his home for what feels like the first time since his fall into nothingness.  His last brief stay in the dungeons beneath the golden palace hardly counts, as the memory of it now is nothing but an unpleasant haze. 

Only Eleanor’s voice kept him living then, and he worries now that he’ll once more descend into insanity when he is returned to the white cell, but Eleanor will fight to visit daily and he will endure.

He hopes.

In the four years since he last set foot on Asgard, Loki has changed profoundly.  The sting of betrayal is no longer such a sharp, slicing pain.  Instead of burning him towards vengeance, thinking of his false family causes him a dull throbbing ache, a bitterness he can clearly taste on his tongue.  He no longer seeks to punish those who wronged and lied to him for millennia, but rather he’d prefer never to interact with them again.

Save his mother.  He is always quite pleased to see Mother.

It feels as though he’s aged ten thousand years since he let go of Thor on that bridge.

It is Eleanor’s doing, although he’d never give her the satisfaction of declaring what she already knows.  Even if her devotion to him is a product of his own manipulation, his need for her is genuine.

Still, he was shocked by her ready, easy agreement to leave Midgard. 

Now she reaches for him, lacing her fingers through his and giving him a shy smile.  He cannot help but return her look of affection.  He steals the tie from her wild blond locks before pulling the hood of her cloak up to hide those curls. 

Thor means to smuggle them into the palace without news of their arrival reaching the public until Loki is tucked safely away in his white cell, and they wear dark cloaks at the request of the crown prince.  Although it is morning on Midgard, it will be the dead of night on Asgard and the darkness will serve them well.

Eleanor nods, indicating her readiness to depart, and with a final chorus of farewells they set out of the lab into the wide circle that serves as a bridge between worlds.

Continuing to squeeze Eleanor’s tiny hand, Loki waves his fingers around his head to remove his concealment charms and looks at the sky.

“Heimdall.  At your leisure.”

A moment later they are consumed by a vortex of swirling light, forced upwards and away from the place that very nearly became home to Loki.  Now it is Eleanor that squeezes his hand in a manner that would be reassuring if the current situation were not so horrible.  Her terror is apparent, but Loki revels in the energy that surrounds them.  He feels it, pulsing in his veins. 

As they hurl towards Asgard, Loki lets himself smile for true.  It may be his last genuine smile for quite some time.

The journey is far too short for Loki, but when their feet solidify on the rainbow bridge, Eleanor staggers.  His arm around her waist is the only thing that prevents her from falling to her knees.

“Fuck,” she mutters, turning to hide her face in his chest.

“I am rather fond of the rush,” he replies.  With hands on either side of her face, he studies her features.  “Are you quite all right, my dear?”

“I’ll live.”

“That is indeed the goal of all this.”

Although he’d rather continue to stare at his songbird, Loki forces himself to look up.

The rebuilt Bifrost pavilion appears nearly identical to the one Thor destroyed to prevent Loki from committing genocide.  It would disturb Eleanor greatly if Loki had indeed slaughtered an entire race and in this moment he is grateful for the interference of his false big brother. 

Very little about the raging god that sought to win the approval of a decaying monarch by such violent and destructive and irrational means is familiar to Loki.

After taking in the familiar domed room, Loki stares at the group standing in the entryway.  It is somewhat surreal to be before them once more.  By looking at them only, nothing appears to have altered over the last few years.  Thor is with his warriors while Heimdall is at his post.

Loki fanaticizes about fleeing back to the comfort of Earth.

With a final sigh Loki takes Eleanor’s hand once more, feeling as though he is walking towards his own doom, but he goes with a smirk on his face.

Thor’s expression is wary and resigned, but the warriors look at him with varying levels of contempt.  Heimdall’s hatred is so apparent even his songbird takes note.

“If you’re not careful your face will get stuck that way,” she informs the gatekeeper.

Loki snorts, pleasantly surprised by Eleanor’s ability to make him laugh even during such a tense moment.  That is his songbird, quiet but far from shy.

Thor and the rest blink like confused, brainless owls.  Heimdall twitches, transferring his glare to Eleanor.  Although logically Loki knows that the loyal servant of Odin would not attack such a small, unarmed woman, he tenses, ready to defend Eleanor if need be.

“This dude really needs to chill out,” Eleanor says to Loki, gesturing to the gatekeeper.

“Excellent word choice, my love,” Loki replies with a chuckle.  “Heimdall is not fond of me.”

“I’m just going to assume that everyone here is not fond you until proven otherwise.”

“A wise course of action.”

“Why doesn’t he like you?”

“I froze him.”

“Like you tried to freeze Laura?”

“Yes, except… more.”

‘That’s rude, Loki.”

“If you say so, my dear.”

“Oh!” Eleanor says.  “Chill out.  I get why that’s funny now.  Because you froze him.”

“Stop!” yells Sif.  “What is this?”

For a glorious – albeit brief – moment Loki forgot their hostile company, but the shrill demand of Sif reminds him of their plight once more.  He doesn’t understand her question and her wide-eyed expression does nothing to clarify.  Eleanor appears equally confused but Thor chuckles.

“I told you of their incomprehensible banter,” he says.  “Is this proof enough that she is here with him willingly, Sif?”

Loki gives Sif his most sinister smirk as she continues to gape.

“Hey, guys,” Eleanor greets with a silly little wave.  “What’s up?”

All four warriors look up.  Loki grins, Eleanor giggles, and Thor sighs.

“There appears to be nothing up,” says Fandral.  “Nothing out of the expected, anyway.  I do not understand.”

“Well, there’s a surprise,” says Loki.

“Wait,” says Sif.  “I recall this phrase.  She said it last time she came here.  As a greeting.”

“Come,” Thor says without explaining to his clueless companions.  “We must make use of this darkness.”

Just outside the Bifrost pavilion six horses stand, waiting to bring them quickly to the palace.  There, flicking his tail and baring his teeth at Thor’s white is Lumar, Loki’s prized horse.  Raised by Loki from birth, he is not overly fond of any others and suddenly Loki feels so guilty for abandoning him here in such unfriendly company.

He is a stark reminder of a life long forgotten.  The memories make Loki ache.

It is entirely possible that Lumar despises his former master, just like all others here in the Realm Eternal. 

Eleanor squeezes his hand, raising a questioning eyebrow.  There is no hiding from her and he tries to give her a smile.  It comes out more grimace than anything.

“Why are there only six horses?” Eleanor demands, turning on the crowned prince.  “We need another horse.  There are seven of us.”

“You will ride with Loki, Eleanor,” Thor explains. 

The glare on Eleanor’s face is baffling to Thor.  Loki takes the moment to reacquaint himself with Lumar.

“Hello, old friend,” Loki murmur, extending a hand.  He sighs with relief when the animal nuzzles his palm as if nothing changed.

“Why don’t I get my own horse?” Eleanor continues.  She is angry with Thor and Loki finds himself enjoying it immensely. 

“I know this is an uncommon form of transportation on Midgard,” Thor says.  The fool’s discomfort makes him smile as Lumar nips affectionately at his ear.

“I can ride,” Eleanor says.  “I’m a country girl, Thor.  I can ride a damn horse.”

Thor chuckles.  “Very good, Eleanor.  You will see your home realm from the back of your own steed, but for now you must share with my brother.”

All peace he felt from his reunion with Lumar is once more replaced with despair and sickening dread.  Thor will show Eleanor Asgard and Loki will be locked in a white cell.  For the first time in years, Eleanor will be beyond his reach.  She will be left to the mercies of people who spent centuries tricking Loki into believing in the myth of family – his mother being the one exception – and he would never have brought her here, but they are cursed with an overabundance of honor.

Eleanor is an innocent, her only crime being her affection for the God of Lies.  Thor will keep her safe.  He will show her the home of her ancestors, as Loki should, all the while poisoning her mind, undoing all Loki’s work to make her love him.  He’s known from the moment he decided this was their best option that he would eventually lose Eleanor, letting her go to keep her safe.  Her visits to his cell will diminish before she stops coming to see him altogether.  The assurance that she is protected will be enough to sustain him.

“Loki,” she says.

Eleanor is on Lumar and all stare at him.  Thor and the warriors Loki once called friends palm their weaponry as if Loki is planning some violence while Eleanor just appears concerned. 

She is braiding her hair.

Loki shakes his head, wondering what he missed during his brooding, and swings onto his horse behind Eleanor.  He wraps his arms around her waist, holding her a degree too tightly.  She rests her hand over his, once more touching him in a way that is meant to be reassuring.

As they depart, Eleanor continues to lean back into his chest and Loki is keenly aware that these touches will most likely be their last.  Thor attempts to engage Eleanor in conversation as they ride, but the songbird stays quiet.  Perhaps she finally is saddened by their inevitable separation.  In the last two Midgardian weeks, Eleanor has seemed wholly and annoyingly undisturbed by his looming imprisonment. 

Several times Loki slows Lumar’s pace to a leisurely walk, only to be scolded by Thor.  Eleanor glances over her shoulder, knowing full well that he is prolonging this trip, but the smile she gives him is far too cheerful and far too devious.  He scowls at her in return, attempting to decode her expression, but Eleanor turns around before he can concoct any theories.

Far sooner than he’d like, they are dismounting near the stables.  He bids Lumar a reluctant farewell, dragging his feet as they move inside.  Twenty of Odin’s guard await, prepared to escort him the white cells.  Loki wonders if he’ll be given his old cell back.

Eleanor huffs and glares at the small battalion here to remove him from her side.  “Really?” her glare seems to say.  “Is this _really_ necessary?”

The guard in front holds heavy chains and Loki is surprised that Thor did not shackle him the moment they arrived on the bridge.

Much to Loki’s amusement, Eleanor actually steps in front of him as if she means to protect him.  She looks so small here, surrounded by the much taller Aesir, but this does not deter her from lifting that stubbornly defiant chin of hers.

“Lady Eleanor,” Thor says, sensing that she is on the verge of being difficult. “It is time to take your leave.  I will personally escort you to visit Loki on the morrow, after you both have had the time to settle in your new accommodations.”

At least Eleanor will be dwelling in his rooms.  It is a small comfort.

“No,” she says simply.

“No?” repeats the crowned oaf.

Loki crosses his arms over his chest to study Eleanor.  As is the norm, he has not a clue as to what is going on in that head of hers.

“Loki is not going to the white cells, Thor,” she says.  Her speech is slow, as if she is addressing someone with the mental capacity of a cricket.  Which, come to think of it, she is.

Eleanor’s announcement is met with humor.  If Odin’s guards were not so well trained they would be chuckling like the warriors three.  Only Thor and Sif seem to understand that the songbird is a formidable force.

“This arrangement is conditional on Loki’s return to his cell,” Thor says through a clenched jaw. The crowned oaf’s irritation delights Loki and he appreciates Eleanor’s futile show of solidarity, even if he will doubtless see the inside of his prison sooner rather than later.

“I did not agree to this condition,” Eleanor says, continuing to stand between Loki and his Asgardian adversaries.  “No one asked me if I was okay with him being locked up. I would never agree to this.”

“Your husband did,” Thor replies. “He agreed.”

Loki winces.  He failed to inform Eleanor of that particular lie, but she does not seem outwardly surprised although she must find the phrase shocking.

“My _husband_ ,” Eleanor says, sending a little thrill up Loki’s spine, “has no power to make any such agreements.  You didn’t ask me, Thor, and Loki is my responsibility now.  The Allfather himself said so.  I’m his bot man whatever thing.”

Now Loki is the one who is surprised.  Eleanor, devious creature that she is, kept something from him, kept a plan from him.

And after all these years her Old Norse is laughable.

“Explain this, Lady Eleanor,” Thor insists.

“I’m in charge of his rehabilitation and punishment.  That’s the whole point of this wacked bond between us and I say locking him away will undo all the progress he made on Midgard,” she says.

“Odin’s decree trumps your duties as bót mannaforráð,” Thor replies.

“Oh, does it?” Eleanor is smirking as she turns to Loki. “Sweetheart, _I forbid you from going to the white cells._ ”

Eleanor’s words seem to infuse themselves into his very veins.  It has been years since he felt the power of Eleanor’s command reverberate in his body, binding him to her will.  With the exception of a rather humorous incident when, in the throes of passion, his songbird accidentally issued the command “don’t stop,” she’s held to the promise she made last time they were here to assert her power only once.

He is shocked by her actions now, a feeling obviously shared by Thor and company.  Eleanor continues to smirk, as the rest are struck dumb.

An over enthusiastic guard pushes at Loki, attempting to force him to descend the steps that lead to the white cells but Eleanor’s command holds and Loki is immobile.

“He can’t move, you fucking moron!” she yells.  Her language scandalizes the Asgardians and snaps Loki from his stupor.  He attempts to step towards her, but the guard blocks the way.

“Move, Frost Giant!” booms the guard.

“Touch me again and you will find yourself short an arm,” Loki says.  It is obviously a bluff as he cannot harm anyone, but this foolhardy guard knows not of Eleanor’s command that prevents Loki from lashing out.  “Touch her, you will be short a head.”

“Enough!” Thor roars, yanking the heavily armored guard away from Loki and Eleanor.  “You forget yourself.  This is a prince of Asgard, a son of Odin, and he will be treated with respect and dignity.  The next occurrence of such language will land you in Prince Loki’s cell.”

And the surprises continue to mount.

Eleanor puts an arm around Loki’s waist as he stares at his false brother.

“Thor, I’ll command him to stay in his rooms,” Eleanor murmurs.  “Just take us up there for now.  We can talk about my reasoning.  Please?”

Loki looks down at the woman at his side.  She is so very tiny, physically fragile, but her strength amazes him.  She is steadfast and she wants him near.

That much is now apparent.  That much became apparent long ago, truth be told.

He was a fool to doubt her affections.

Now if only they were genuine.

 

* * *

 

 

In the end they are led to Loki’s old rooms in time to see daybreak over the city.  Loki is too stunned to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Six chapters in and we're already back on Asgard! 
> 
> Thank you so very much for reading, commenting, following, whatever. You are the best one and I love you very much.


	7. The Rest of Your Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for Thor 2.  
> I AM SO GLAD THAT YOU ARE CURRENTLY READING THIS! THANK YOU.
> 
> And thanks so my lovely, lovely betas.  
> 1st beta: Heather  
> Final beta: Erica

“Can you move the piano?” she asks, surveying the room that now holds all her instruments.   The area was formerly some sort of reading lounge, but Eleanor claimed it for the high ceilings and the drapes that open up to the balcony beyond.

Without a word Loki removed the furniture to help her settle in and he hasn’t spoken since they were left alone in his rooms.  His silence is unnerving.  “Are you mad?” she asked right away.  “About the commands, are you mad?”

He simply shook his head and Eleanor started to unpack their belongings, just to keep herself occupied.

Now Loki moves to the piano, placing it to give Eleanor a view of the sea in the distance.  The sun – or suns, she doesn’t really know how it works here – is just rising and it is beautiful.

“Thank you,” she says.

His silence makes her insecure and for one moment she thinks maybe that this was a mistake, that she did the wrong thing. 

“I didn’t,” she mutters to herself.  Loki hears anyway, turning to her with arms crossed over his chest and a single eyebrow raised.  “I didn’t make the wrong decision.  You can’t go back there, Loki.  I know you hate the command thing, but I couldn’t let you go back there!”

He does nothing but watch her.

“You are doing everything you can to keep me safe and I’m just doing the same for you,” she whispers.  “That’s why I broke my promise.”

Loki nods but Eleanor wants more.  She wants to hear him say that everything will be okay.  She wants him to understand why she broke her promise to never give him another command.

“And—” Her voice breaks.  “And I can’t be without you.  Neither of us will be alone again, not if I can help it.  I don’t care if you’re mad.  You can just get over—“

“Come here.”  His tone is quiet, but no less of a command than the one that now traps him in his luxurious series of rooms. 

With great trepidation Eleanor closes the distance between them.  As she moves to stand in front of him, he leans against a golden column and Eleanor feels like a chastised child.

“I’m sorry I broke my promise,” she murmurs, dropping her gaze to his boots.

“Eleanor,” he replies, tilting her face up and forcing her to make eye contact.  “I am not cross.  I am in awe.  I am stunned speechless.  You were brilliant.”

She feels a million pounds lighter.  “Will you kiss me?”

His cocky grin is the last thing she sees before her eyes flicker shut as he obliges her.

It starts sweet, full of his professed awe and her relief.  It’s her fault, really, that it escalates so quickly.  She is scared in the realm of her father, where the people hate her nearly as much as they hate her boyfriend, so she kisses him to forget and because she wants to.

She always wants to.

Sex has always been her first choice in distractions and she is in dire need of distraction.

The sun is bright behind her eyelids as she crawls up his body, demanding more of his mouth, groaning when he finally lifts her and presses her back into a golden pillar.

Maybe if he agrees to touch her forever she’ll never have to deal with where they are and what comes next.  She will continue to kiss him to keep from crying and hating that the simple little life they built is over.

“Eleanor?” He breathes against her lips.

“I’m fine,” she says, urging herself to mean it.  “I’m fine.”

Loki frowns and Eleanor silently begs him to just let her be, to just let her fear sit there unacknowledged, because if he forces her turmoil into the open she’ll shatter.

And she can’t shatter yet, not with Odin’s response to Eleanor’s defiance an unknown.

“This seems to happen with much greater frequency than it should.”  At the sound of the Queen’s voice Loki scrambles away, leaving Eleanor to lean heavily against a gilded column, trying to get her legs to support her.

“I will be on the balcony,” Frigga says, sweeping away in an elegant swath of pale blue silk.

Loki and Eleanor stare at each other for a moment.  She breaks the tension with a giggle.  Right now he is the God of Embarrassment and there is something so damn adorable and rare about that.

“We should probably go talk to her,” she says.

“I need a moment,” he says, blushing slightly.  Eleanor gazes at the bulge in his pants.  “Staring is not assisting matters, Eleanor!”

It’s difficult, but she turns away.

“Sorry about that,” Eleanor says, coming to stand beside Frigga at the railing of the balcony.  The sun is still low in the sky and the early morning light makes Asgard appear more beautiful, if that is even possible. 

“No need to apologize, my dear” replies the Queen, stroking Eleanor’s hair absently.  “I may be ancient, but I do recall what it was like to be recently wed.”

Eleanor’s smile only falters slightly.  She didn’t even flinch when Frigga caught them at it, _again_ , but being called Loki’s wife for the second time in as many hours makes her cheeks burn.

Loki doesn’t do anything without a reason, but he certainly is going to need to explain this one.

“Although an invite to the nuptials would have been appreciated.” 

Eleanor’s never seen the Queen pout before.  The expression makes Eleanor smile.  “No one was there,” she says.  This is not totally a lie, being as no wedding ever occurred.

“Just the two of you,” Frigga says.

“Yeah.”  That’s more of a lie.

“And whoever officiates such Midgardian ceremonies.”

“Yeah.”  That’s the biggest lie of all.

“Well, I suppose it is long overdue at this point,” Frigga says.  “If circumstances were altered, I would have enjoyed a proper celebration.  You would make a beautiful bride, Eleanor.”

“Thanks, Frigga.” 

“I am ever so happy to have you here,” she says, hugging Eleanor.  “Even if you are not, and I understand that the situation is far from ideal, it is such a relief to have my child home.  These years have felt so long.”

Eleanor gets it.  She remembers what it was like when he was jailed here.  After that it was such a relief to just see him safe.

“Tell me, how is my son?” Frigga asks.  “It’s been several months since I last stayed with you on Midgard.”

“He’s as good as can be expected,” Eleanor says with a shrug.  “He doesn’t want me caught up in any of this.”

“He is frightened.”

“Yeah.”

“He is frightened and chose to come home.  There is significance in this.”

“This was never my home, Mother,” Loki grumbles as he joins them.  Ignoring his crankiness, Frigga hugs him tightly.  It is a testament to his progress when Loki returns the embrace.

“I see you’ve made it up to your rooms after only a few moments home, my son,” she says, chastising him gently.

“That was not my mischief,” he replies, grinning at Eleanor.  “For once my hands are clean.”

“Oh?”

“This is all Eleanor, Mother.”

“I’m not letting him go back to the place where he lost his mind,” Eleanor replies, feeling slightly guilty.  “He doesn’t deserve that.”

“I agree,” Frigga says and Eleanor immediately relaxes.  “Although I am quite looking forward to witnessing your attempt to convince Odin of such.  He is very angry.”

“Bring it,” says Eleanor.

 

* * *

 

 

Odin doesn’t arrive all day.  No one comes at all, and after Frigga leaves, they crawl into Loki’s absurd and awesome circular bed.  They sleep for hours, until a pair of servants arrives with dinner.

They bring the whole spread out to the balcony, settling down at a table under the rapidly darkening sky, and Loki frets over Eleanor’s confinement.

“It is I who am imprisoned, not you, Eleanor,” he says, pouting.

“Technically,” Eleanor replies, indulging in Asgardian wine that is much more potent than the Midgardian version, “I’m free to go.  I could just walk out of here, walk for miles before I breach the boundary of our bond.”

Loki drops his grapes, digging the heel of his hand into his chest.  “Do not jest.  My anxiety is high enough without thinking on my lover wandering around amongst my enemies.  It defeats the whole purpose of our move.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she replies with a sigh.  “But I can handle myself.”

Loki rolls his eyes.  “Even the most frail, low-born kitchen wench could snap your neck with ease.”

Eleanor finishes her wine and moves to sit in his lap.  She likes to think that her touch dissipates some of that anxiety.

“I miss ice cream,” he murmurs as she rests her head against his neck.  “My version is just not the same as this Ben and Jerry.”

“Yeah, because it’s better.”

Loki sighs.  “I suppose I can make it for you.  If you insist.  Although you must remind me to eat it in front of you only.”

Eleanor lifts her head to blink at him in confusion.

“It turns me blue, as you well know.”

A surge of anger rushes though her as she thinks of the contempt and hatred with which the fucking guard spat the words _Frost_ _Giant_ at Loki like it was the most vile of slurs.  She’s never been much of a fighter, but the look on Loki’s face made her want to lash out in violence.

Instead she snuggles a little closer.  “You know what racism is, right?”

“Please, Eleanor, not now.  It has been an extremely taxing day.  I’ve given them plenty of legitimate reasons to loathe me, far removed from what I am.  Not all are as forgiving as you, my love.”

“Well, they should be,” she mutters.

Loki chuckles. 

“Is there anything here that you missed?  That makes you happy to be back?” she asks.

Loki is quiet for a long time but eventually he answers, much to her surprise.

“The wine,” he says, making her giggle.  “Lumar.  My full collection of texts.  My mother. These rooms.”

“In that order?” Eleanor teases.  Loki rolls his eyes.

“The sky,” he continues.  Eleanor follows his gaze up.  “There is your something brilliant, Eleanor.”

“Something brilliant,” she murmurs.  Even if they are trapped here for the rest of Eleanor’s life, she will never stop being in awe of the bright lights and swirling colors above her.  Here on Asgard, the brilliance of space seems so close, a tangible, real thing.

“And there is a scent,” he says.

“A good scent?”

“Neither good nor bad,” Loki replies.  “Just familiar.  It is not readily noticeable, but there it is.  I find it soothing.”

She doesn’t mention it, but he has a smell too.  Eleanor can’t sleep without it.

“Do you think Odin will stop by tomorrow to yell at me?” she asks.  Her eyes are heavy again, despite their nap.

“To yell at me, more like.  And I am sure he will have us summoned to the throne room to bow at his feet.”

“Why would he yell at you?  You didn’t do anything.  I didn’t even tell you about it so you wouldn’t get in trouble.”  She is alert and lifting her head once more.

“They will think me behind this, I assure you.”  Loki smiles sadly, resigned to his reputation.

This is one possibility she foolishly failed to consider.  Eleanor has a habit of thinking the best of Loki, a strategy that has yet to fail her, but it’s the opposite with Thor and Odin.  They assume the worst, and maybe after everything that’s happened they have that right.  They certainly don’t trust him – not that she expects them too – but that distrust extends to Eleanor as well.

“Well, shit,” she mutters.

Loki sighs.  “Although I will enjoy watching your attempt to convince them of such.”

 

* * *

 

In the morning Eleanor opens her eyes to see Loki, already awake and watching her.  His face is not far from hers and Eleanor blinks several times to bring him into focus.

“I’m dry,” she says, voice croaky.  “Did I try to get to London?  Did I go into a trance?”

“No,” Loki says, stroking her hair.  “Did you dream?”

“No!” She grins so wide her face hurts.  “I didn’t dream!  I didn’t sleepwalk!  Does this mean the move got me out of harm’s way?”

“Difficult to say for sure,” Loki says.  “We will need more time to tell for certain, but this is a very promising start.”

Eleanor lets out a relieved giggle and Loki looks relaxed for the first time since Bragi’s warning.

“Breakfast is here,” Loki says.

“Awesome.  I’m starving.”

 

* * *

 

“Just do what I do but an octave lower,” Eleanor instructs.  She watches Loki’s long fingers splayed out over ivory keys.  They finished unpacking yesterday and now there is really nothing to do but wait for Odin to get his shit together.

They’ve spent two days in his rooms with no appearance of the King or the Crown Prince.  It’s been strangely relaxing, like a vacation spent in bed and eating awesome food and playing music. 

Except it’s really not.

“Do not mock my lack of skill,” he says for the third time since sitting down at the piano with her.

“Do what I do,” she repeats.  “Only start right there.”

She checks the position of his hands before slowly playing a series of notes.  After observing as she repeats the phrase twice, Loki does the same.  He matches her perfectly and they play in unison for a few minutes, repeating the same simple phrase of notes on an endless loop.

“Up the tempo,” she murmurs. 

Again, he adjusts flawlessly.  They speed up once more until the notes match those that popped into her head this morning.

“Keep going,” she murmurs, removing her hands from the keys.  He falters for a moment as he adjusts to the sounds of his low notes without the accompaniment of her higher register.

“Do you have it?” she asks after allowing him to play on his own for a few minutes.

“Of course,” he says, scoffing.  “I could do this and doze simultaneously.”

Rolling her eyes at his typical arrogance, she layers on a new part on top of his steady phrase of low notes.  She starts with a basic melody, experimenting to see if Loki can continue to keep time when her part alters from his.

He can.

They play on and Eleanor weaves in more complex phrases, always returning to variations of her established melody.  For a long time she closes her eyes, keenly aware that it is Loki accompanying her, maintaining a steady bass line that provides the foundation for their hastily composed ditty.

The song is light and jubilant.  It stays hopeful, even when she adds a melancholy movement.  She returns to the original phrase maintained by Loki, playing unison with him once more, with the exception of a few fun little embellishments.

When she opens her eyes it is to see Loki smiling.

For the first time Loki’s fingers falter and the song falls apart.  She abandons the piano in favor of grinning at her God of Spontaneous Piano Playing.

He nods at something behind her and she turns, not even shocked to see the royals gaping from inside the main room.  In the hall is a gaggle of guards.  Eleanor can make out their faces even through the gauzy fabric that hangs down between the columns separating the music room from the sitting area beyond.

Frigga and Thor stand inside the room while the guards and various warriors wait in the hall beyond the open door, staring. Thor jumps and quickly shuts the hall door so it is just Eleanor, Loki, and his family.

“You Asgardians really don’t knock, do you?” she mutters, sighing heavily.  Loki chuckles.  With great reluctance, she gets to her feet, rubbing Loki’s shoulder as she does so.

“That was immensely beautiful and I would not interrupt,” Frigga says.  “And why do you not wear any form of leg coverings, Eleanor?”

“The hour is early,” Loki snaps, standing behind Eleanor.  He hands her his robe and she slips it on.  “And you failed to alert us to your presence, nor did you inform us that you would be arriving this morning.”

“We owe you no such courtesy as you are prisoner here, Loki,” says Thor, his voice a deep rumble.  “Lady Eleanor’s attire would not be considered indecent on Midgard, Mother.  Truly, it would border on modest.”

Eleanor tries not to laugh as Loki glares all over the place.

“The Allfather requests your presence,” says Frigga, sounding stern and serious. “You are, the both of you, to appear before the throne.”

“I’ll go change,” Eleanor says, going on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

“Change quickly,” he calls after her.

* * *

 

“Eleanor, if you continue to frown like that your expression will get stuck,” Loki says, repeating what she told Heimdall when they touched down on Asgard.

“I don’t like this,” she replies, continuing to frown as Thor tightens a fucking collar around her boyfriend’s neck.  “Thor, I really don’t like this.”

“Would you rather talk to the Allfather alone?” asks the golden god, connecting Loki’s manacled wrists to the fucking collar with a heavy chain.  “Because this is the only way Loki will be permitted to enter the throne room.”

“I don’t like it,” Eleanor repeats.

“Really, my dear?” asks Loki, tilting his head down and smirking at her.  “There is nothing about this you find even the slightest bit appealing?  Me, bound.  Totally at your mercy.”

The voice combined with the way he rakes his gaze down her body makes Eleanor’s skin heat up.  It’s horrible timing, what with the pack of heavily armed guards that wait in the hall, not to mention the presence of his mother and brother.

His playful, trickster mood makes her nervous for the upcoming meeting with the Allfather.   The act is a good one, but Eleanor sees his nerves.

“Maybe I should go see Odin alone,” she says, tearing her eyes away from the absurdly attractive chained god.

“Oh, have I displeased you, love?  Have I been bad?  However will you punish me?” says Loki, voice husky.

Eleanor groans and hides her face in her hands.

“The Allfather specifically requested both of you,” Thor mutters, attaching a long chain to the manacles on each of Loki’s wrists.  They are then wrapped around to connect at the small of Loki’s back.  Another chain connects his wrists to the cuffed ankles.

“Behave yourself, Loki,” says Frigga.  “This is your wife.  It is inappropriate to address her with so little respect in such company.”

Eleanor keeps forgetting to ask him about the whole wife thing and disrespect is not really the issue here, as far as Eleanor’s concerned.

“Yes, Mother,” Loki replies.  His ears turn pink.  Eleanor wonders if he forgot the presence of the Queen.

“Really, Loki.  Please, don’t make things any worse,” Frigga says, quiet and serious and pleading.

“Define worse,” replies Loki. 

“Uh, try them forcing you into a fucking white cell!”  Eleanor says, losing it a bit.  She pulls at her hair and Loki finally stops smirking.

“That is inevitable, my dear,” he says.

“I know how you get with the Allfather.  Don’t make it worse,” Eleanor says, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Come here, my love,” he says with a sigh.

She does with great reluctance, continuing to glare at him.  Hands bound, he is unable to embrace her, but his fingers fist in the fabric of her dress and Eleanor drops her arms, stepping closer to him.

“Thank you,” he whispers in her ear.  “Your effort here is truly appreciated, my sweet songbird.  Even if you fail, your attempt to keep me with you has great meaning to me.”

She nods and takes a shaky breath.  Loki kisses her temple and steps back.

“Shall we?  Wouldn’t want to keep Odin Allfather waiting, now would we?” he says, smirking once more.

* * *

 

They make slow progress to the throne room.  Loki’s escort is measured and careful, prepared for Loki to start rampaging at any moment.  Thor bops off somewhere on some princely business, leaving Eleanor and Frigga to trail behind the morbid procession.

“You must also take the same advice we gave my son,” murmurs Frigga, resting her hand on Eleanor’s shoulder.  “Do not make things worse, Eleanor.”

“Yeah, okay.  I know.”

“And I know that you are angry and I am glad that Loki’s found such a staunch ally in you, but do remember his crimes, against this realm and your realm and the realm of his birth.  They are real, Eleanor, and something we cannot forget.”

“Yeah.  Okay.  I know.”

* * *

 

After they were interrupted at the piano, Eleanor dressed very carefully for this meeting with Odin.  It’s not a dress she wears often because it’s a bit too much, but it is regal and makes her feel stronger.  The green and black gown has gold metal accents and it’s obviously similar to Loki’s standard leather getup.  Her arms are bare, the collar is high, and in it Eleanor is powerful.

This is the best way she can think to present a united front to Odin.

She remembers the throne room differently.  On her last visit to the Realm Eternal it was packed with Asgardians, all watching avidly to see the fate of the dark prince.  It made her sick then, how everyone around her was fascinated and giddy to see Loki so mentally and physically weakened.

Now it’s just Odin perched on his throne at the end of the golden hallway, back straight and eye narrowed.  Morning sunshine flows through the great circular windows at his back, bathing him in a glow that only serves to make him appear more royal and godly.

Eleanor would really like to approach the Allfather at Loki’s side, a united front, but when they reach the base of the throne they are separated by guards.  Frigga is at Eleanor’s side and Loki stares up at Odin with an expression of amusement and total lack of interest.  Eleanor glances back and forth between the two, thinking that they should have just taken their chances on Midgard.

“Eleanor Bragadóttir,” Odin booms, making Eleanor jump.

She is shocked that he addresses her first and then offers a clumsy bow because Frigga warned her not to make things worse.  Although she’s grown to really hate Odin – mostly for raising his adoptive son to hate himself through a lot of fucked up, internalized prejudice – she needs to suck it up and fake some respect for the man for Loki’s sake.

“Or, I suppose, you are now Princess Eleanor Bragadóttir,” he says as Eleanor straightens from her bow.  She doesn’t like his expression.  It is too blank. 

“Uh, say what now?” she blurts, squinting up the king.

“Congratulations on your nuptials,” he continues, with a trace of amusement in his tone now.  His congratulations don’t sound particularly congratulatory.  “Quite the accomplishment for once such as you.  Outcast, disgraced as he may be, you still wed a prince of Asgard, making you a princess.”

“Right.  Yes.  That is something I did.  Totally married him.”  Now even the guards are giving her funny looks and Eleanor can hear Loki sigh. “And thank you, my king.”

Loki sighs louder.

“I will start with you,” says Odin.

Eleanor has no idea what that means, but she manages a nod.

“I will grant you refuge here from whatever mysterious threats haunt you, but it will come at a price,” he says.

Loki’s chains rattle but Eleanor stays silent.

“You will remake yourself into one befitting your new title.”

“Remade?  No,” says Loki, objecting to this word choice.

“Silence!” Odin’s yell reverberates off the columns of the throne room.

“It’s okay, Loki,” Eleanor murmurs.  She peaks around the guards separating them to give him a reassuring smile.  “Let’s just listen.”

He gives her a hard and long stare before scowling at Odin once more.

“Frigga will assist you in this, through a series of lessons,” continues the King.  “You will learn our etiquette, our history, our customs, and you will not bring further shame to this house.  There are diplomatic duties that you will be expected to uphold with behavior befitting of one with your new title.”

Princess Lessons hold little appeal for Eleanor.  She glares at Loki as he studies the ceiling with an air of boredom he can’t quite pull off and for a moment she considers coming clean on this whole marriage business, but keeping Loki out of the white cells is her sole priority and there is a reason he lied about this.

Still, that sounds like a shit deal.

“I’m not really big on school,” Eleanor says.  “And homework.  Does this include homework?”

“What is homework?” Frigga asks.

“Eleanor,” Loki says with obvious irritation.  “You excel in school.  You were well on your way to an advanced Midgardian academic degree.”

“Okay,” she says, turning to Loki and forgetting for a moment the current situation, even with all the guards separating them. “First of all, my bachelor’s degree was faked and second, I actually liked it because I was studying music and music is awesome.”

“This too could be awesome,” Loki replies.  The guards look nervous, as if they aren’t sure what is happening.  “How will you know if you refuse?  Tell me, my sweet songbird, how will you fill your days with me locked up if not in this way?”

He makes an excellent point and she opens her mouth to tell him so, but then Odin is yelling again.

“Stop!” he demands.  “You discuss this as if you have choice in the matter.  There is no choice.  If you wish to stay, you will do what is asked of you.”

“I thought perhaps you might be interested in musical lessons, and it would serve you well to train with Sif as well,” Frigga says, much more kindly than her gruff, asshole of a spouse.

That at least sounds like something Eleanor can get behind, but she doesn’t need to hear about mandatory Princess Lessons when there is the much more urgent matter of keeping Loki out of the white cells on the table.

“Okay.  Fine.  I’ll do whatever you want.  But what about Loki?” she asks, turning back to the king.  “There are plenty of reasons for him to stay out of the white cells.  I—“

“Enough,” says Odin, waving off her well-prepared arguments.   She forgets herself for a moment and glares at the Protector of the Nine Realms.  The title does not seem wholly earned to Eleanor.  “There is no argument you can make that I have not already thought of and dismissed in the face of Loki’s most recent crimes against Asgard.”

“Crimes?” Eleanor asks.  Her anger is getting away from her once more.  “There have been no crimes.  He hasn’t even _been_ on Asgard.”

“He wrested control of the Bifrost from the Realm Eternal!”

“Giving us mortals a little control of who enters their own realm is illegal? I would really like to read this supposed law myself, if it’s not too much trouble,” Eleanor insists.

Loki chuckles and she shoots him a glare.  Laughter is not the way into Odin’s good graces.

“Who are you to demand anything of me?” Odin booms.

“A Princess of Asgard,” Eleanor says, bowing slightly.  She is nothing but polite.  “You said so yourself, my King.”

Odin looks at her as if she is something foul that he could not avoid stepping in.

“Enough,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand.  “I would speak to the prisoner alone.”

Eleanor opens her mouth but Frigga is on her in an instant, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and leading her away.  She flashes Loki an encouraging smile but he is too busy smirking at the Allfather as if nothing has ever or will ever actually matter to him.

They don’t go far.  Frigga pulls Eleanor into an alcove close to the throne.  Although Eleanor can no longer see her God of Smirking, hearing will not be an issue.

Frigga brings a finger to her lips.  “Shush,” and Eleanor nods.  In this moment it is very apparent where Loki gets his deviousness.

“I really don’t see what all the fuss is about,” Loki drawls.  Eleanor bites back a groan because this really isn’t going to end well.

“Do you truly not feel the gravity of your crimes?” asks Odin.  “Wherever you go there is war, ruin, and death.”

“Must we speak of this?” Loki replies.  “It’s been ever so long.  I hardly even recall these alleged crimes, the most recent of which is not even truly a crime, despite how it burns you so to know that the mortals now have a little scrap of power. As for the rest… well, I have nothing to say as time has eroded my memory.”

That might just be true, although it is not a matter of time but one of the severe mental imbalances and delusions that plagued him in the aftermath, the ones Odin never acknowledged.

“And besides,” Loki continues.  “I went down to Midgard to rule the people of Midgard as a benevolent god.  Just like you.”

Eleanor rolls her eyes, sharing a look with Frigga.

“We are not gods,” says Odin.  “We are born.  We live.  We die.”

“Of course,” Loki says.  Eleanor can clearly picture his face.  The smirk.  The squinty eyes.  The slight tilt of his head.  “Give or take five thousand years.”

“This discussion is long overdue.  If you were not pathetically weak the last time you stood in this room, we would have had it already. You succumbed to your poisoned mind then, but now insanity is not excuse.  You destroy lives completely on your own volition, causing mayhem and panic and death on Midgard.”

Loki stays silent.  Eleanor wants to kill the Protector of the Nine Realms.

“And all this because Loki desires a throne,” Odin continues when Loki does not respond to his insults.

“It is my birthright.” 

Eleanor can’t figure out if he really still means this or not, but Odin did have Loki convinced for the vast majority of his life that he would one day sit on a throne.

“Your birthright was to die! As a child!”  The rage is a sudden consuming thing and Eleanor doesn’t even realize that she’s moved until Frigga is pulling her back into the alcove and covering her mouth with a palm.  The Queen looks pretty fucking angry herself and Eleanor stills, listening intently.  “Cast out on a frozen rock!  If I had not taken you in, you would not be here now to hate me.”

For long moments Loki says nothing.  Eleanor tries to contain her anger, but fails.

“If I’m for ax then for mercy’s sake, just swing it,” Loki says. “I know you made your decision the moment Eleanor issued her command to keep me out of the white cells.  She will undo it, if you ask it of her, but enough of this. It’s not that I don’t love our little talks, it’s just… I don’t love them.”

“Frigga is the only reason you are still alive,” says Odin. “The only reason for your last few years of vacation on Midgard with your pet.”

The Allfather is supposed to be this supremely wise being of god status, but in this moment he is purposefully and malevolently baiting the man he once called son.  It is clear to Eleanor now that Odin is saying all the things he can to deliberately hurt and enrage Loki.  There seems to be no point to this except to punish.

“Wife,” Loki corrects, sounding miraculously calm. “Did you not just call her a princess?”

“Frigga is also the sole reason your trollop is welcome here now, and you will never see her again.”

“See who?  Mother or my wife?” There is genuine panic in his voice now and the chains rattle.  Eleanor feels it too, like a black tide rising in her stomach and overtaking her lungs.  Frigga tightens her grip on Eleanor’s arm.

How could they have misjudged Odin?  The Bifrost situation seems like the last straw to the Allfather.

“Both. This bót mannaforráð arrangement has failed to punish you and under her watch you managed to further weaken the might of Asgard by giving the mortals a means to control our Bifrost,” Odin says, voice rising.

“I was making amends,” Loki murmurs.  He sounds so small.  “Atoning.  Giving them agency for I could not replace the lives I stole.  Is this not the directive of the bót mannaforráð?”

“Your so-called amends was in direct and willful opposition to the good of Asgard and as such you will spend the rest of your days in the dungeons,” Odin replies. 

Frigga’s hand covers Eleanor’s mouth once more, keeping her dismayed cry locked inside.

“I…” Loki takes a moment to collect himself. “And what of Eleanor?  She will be safe?  She will be protected, come what may?”

Loki is desperate and pleading, and although Eleanor’s heard that tone on a handful of particularly painful occasions, Frigga certainly has not, if her gaping expression is any indication.

Odin is silent for a long stretch of time.  Perhaps he is shocked to see Eleanor’s God of Pride begging to the man he hates most.

“So there is something left in the universe that Loki does care for?” Odin murmurs.

“If that were not the case, I would not be standing before you now.”

“And you corrupted the bridge to the mortal land of New Mexico to further mock Thor and to anger myself, did you not?  Just a bit of fun, a child throwing a tantrum in the hopes that his betters pay him a bit of attention?”

“Annoying you, Odin Allfather, was merely a side benefit, and believe me when I say I no longer have any need or wish for your attentions.”  Loki sounds like he’s barely holding back, but in this moment his forced-calm is admirable.

“What is your main reasoning, Loki?  For passing such knowledge to the mortals you once sought to rule without mercy?”

“I thought that would be obvious.”

“It is not.”

“For Eleanor.  As with most things, I did this for Eleanor.  Not only to please her with my so-called rehabilitation, but to keep her safe in the event any would use the bridge to come for her,” Loki replies.   He is quiet and earnest.  Frigga smiles down at Eleanor, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Silence stretches once more.  Eleanor feels the dread coiling in her belly and she wants to be back home in New Mexico.  The end of the universe seems worth the risk in comparison to Loki locked away for the rest of his days.

“I have changed my mind,” Odin says abruptly.

“Pardon?” asks Loki.  He has to clear his throat twice to get out the question.

“Your old rooms will serve as your prison.  Your new wife will reside there with you, under the condition she takes part in anything Frigga asks of her.”

“Of… of course,” manages Loki.

Eleanor sags in relief.

“This is your final chance, Loki,” says Odin, gravely serious.  “If you betray Asgard again and commit further crimes, not even the love of your mother will keep you your head.”

“Of course,” Loki says again.

“Take him away,” Odin says and Frigga is hustling Eleanor out of the throne room through a small side door.

“What the hell just happened?” Eleanor asks.

Frigga simply beams.

 

* * *

 

 

The same procession of guards that led Loki to see Odin leads him back to his rooms.

Eleanor slips in between them when they emerge, rushing to Loki’s side.  With hands on that damned collar, she tugs him down for a kiss and in it she can feel his relief.  He shakes slightly and – like her – he truly thought Odin would keep them apart.

A guard tugs on a chain looped around Loki’s waist and he stumbles, breaking the kiss.  They move through the hallway again and Eleanor links arms with Loki. 

As they reach the door to Loki’s rooms, Frigga appears, pressing a key into Eleanor’s palm before embracing her son.  She whispers something in his ear that has Loki hanging his head and breathing raggedly.  He nods once and Frigga moves away, discussing something logistical with the guards that Eleanor so does not care about in the slightest.

“I will give a few days for you to settle in,” says the Queen as she turns to leave.  “Perhaps we will start with your lessons in one week’s time.”

Eleanor murmurs her agreement.

Gathering the heavy chains in her arms, she pushes open the door.  Loki steps in behind her and she murmurs a new command that will trap him here.  Loki stares at his feet, shocked and pensive, as Eleanor uses the key to rid him of the heavy metal.  When he is free he rubs his wrists and wanders over to the couch in a daze.  She kicks at the chains and they scrape on the floor.

Moving to the door, she thinks to discard them in the hall, but Loki speaks.

“Are you sure we will find no further use for those?” he asks, voice hoarse.

The door stays shut with the chains coiled by it and Eleanor joins Loki on the couch.  He sits still and straight, staring at nothing.  Eleanor pulls her knees to her chest, sitting sideways on the cushions and waiting.

“Coming here was dangerous,” Loki murmurs, still staring straight ahead, green eyes unfocused.  “I knew this, although I did not expect the Allfather to increase my imprisonment to a life sentence.  He really must be displeased with your work, my dear.”

“Fuck him.”

“I would rather you didn’t.”

“Dude, don’t be disgusting.”

“Still,” says Loki in the same creepy calm tone.  “I see no other alternative, to taking the risk.  Nowhere else is nearly as safe as Asgard, even with Odin holding all the power.”

“The Allfather is a giant bag of dicks!” Eleanor says.  “He was purposefully cruel.  It’s like he wanted to cause you as much pain as possible.  What the fuck kind of fucking fuck does that?”

Loki cracks a smile and studies his hands in his lap.  “I thought Mother would hide you away to listen.  I am glad, as I have no desire to relive the conversation once more. “

“Odin is a bully, Loki.  No one deserves to die alone on a rock.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. 

“It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Eleanor says.  “Him picking you up.  Even if he did a shit job with the parent gig, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Loki sighs, reaching out to rub her knee through the leather of her ridiculous dress.  “The moment I learned of my true heritage explained so much as to why he never treated me like Thor.  He saw me as a political prop and nothing more.  The majority of that conversation certainly proved this, yet he changed his mind.  I understand it not. Why did he change his mind and let me return here with you?”

He turns to look at her now, as if she magically holds the answers he seeks.  The grip on her knee tightens.

“I don’t know, honey,” she says, shrugging.  “You have changed.  Maybe he saw that.  Maybe he finally figured out the white cells could potentially destroy all that progress.  Maybe he doesn’t want to fuck up his marriage any further.  Who knows?”

“Pardon?”  Loki blinks at her.  “You think my parents have marital problems?”

“Oh, yeah,” Eleanor replies.  “Your mom was furious.  The way he talked to you made her furious.  But it’s more than that.  I get the feeling that they’ve been fighting about you for a long time.”

“Huh,” Loki says, slouching slightly.  “Regardless, I no longer care to know Odin’s motivations or feelings.  He will keep you safe and we will remain together.  That is all that matters.”

It smacks into her chest suddenly, the knowledge that they were so close to losing.  Odin almost permanently separated them, and Eleanor is sickened just imagining it, even if they’ve escaped that fate.

For now.

“Oh,” Eleanor says, pushing the heel of her hand into her frantically beating heart.  “Oh, God.”

“Eleanor,” he says, tugging on her elbow until she gets the hint and crawls into his lap, straddling his thighs.  “All will be well.”

“But, he almost… he could have… we wouldn’t—“

“I know,” he murmurs, stroking her hair.  “I know.  It terrified me as well, but all will be well now, Eleanor.  We are together and that is the way it shall remain.”

Eleanor is elated.  Her laugh makes Loki smile.

“We’re together,” she repeats.

“Yes.”

“So, what now?”

Loki smirks and eyes the chains by the door.  “Your turn.”

“You cannot be serious,” she says, her own grin growing.

Loki just continues to smirk and Eleanor knows they will be okay.  They really will.

 


	8. Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A friendly reminder that I own nothing. 
> 
> And that Heather is the speediest beta. I love her.
> 
> Erica is equally speedy and amazing. I love her too.
> 
> Thank you so very much for reading. I love you, as well.

She waits until after dinner to ask the question. 

“So,” Eleanor says after returning to the rooms they will thankfully share for the remainder of their time here.  Part of her wants to celebrate their great victory, but she can’t ignore this whole marriage misconception any longer.  “Everyone sure seems to think that we are married.  Like really married.  Like, so married they are calling me Princess Eleanor.”

The smile is gone from his face and then Loki is gone from his seat where they were lounging on the balcony, over to a small table to pour himself a goblet of wine.  His jaw is clenched as he drinks, and his annoyance annoys her.

“Why does your family think we’re married, Loki?” she asks when he fails to explain.  “Why are they calling me Princess Eleanor?”

“Because I referred to you as my wife when discussing logistics for this move with Thor.  While still on Midgard,” he admits.

His apparent and misplaced anger is beyond Eleanor’s understanding.

“Why?” she asks.  What seems to Eleanor like a perfectly reasonable inquiry serves to further enrage Loki.  He slams down the now empty chalice on the tray before storming back to Eleanor. 

When he leans over her, arms caging her in as he grips the back of the sofa, he is every bit the menace, but Eleanor stopped fearing him a long time ago.

This tantrum only serves to irritate her further and she simply tilts her face towards his, awaiting his answer.

“Does the thought displease you so, my dear?” he snaps.  “When they call you my wife, do you shiver with disgust?”

Her own anger ebbs because as mean as he might look in this moment, underneath the scowl is her fragile god, so ready to believe he is unwanted.

“Of course not,” she replies.  “Don’t you put words in my mouth.”

“I loathe this Midgardian expression,” he says with a growl.  “I put nothing in your mouth.  Not today, anyway.”

She cracks a smile, but he continues to scowl.

“Loki,” she murmurs, prying a hand off the back of the lounge.  “Can you please sit?”

Begrudgingly, he fulfills her request.

“You do not wish to be my wife,” he says. 

His misery makes her stomach twist.

“It’s not that,” she says.  Once again her God of Intelligence is awfully stupid when it comes to their relationship.  “I just don’t recall a wedding.  Or a proposal.   Or any sort of discussion at all.”

“You wear my ring.”

“Dude, you didn’t even ask me about that!  I thought it was just a pretty piece of jewelry, not an engagement ring.”

Loki scoffs.  “I never figured you to be one that places much stock in the petty ceremony and meaningless ritual of a wedding, Eleanor.”

“I’m not,” she says.  “I don’t.  But, Loki, we’ve never even talked about getting married.”

He sighs heavily.

“Come on, Loki.”

“Was our little talk with Odin not reason enough?” he asks.  “I would not be permitted to share these quarters with you if we were not wed. This is not Midgard and here the sexual component of our relationship would be taboo.  And although I am jailed and a disgrace, I am still a prince and as my wife you have access to the very best care and protection.  It is a matter of privilege, Eleanor.”

“Okay,” she says, studying him intently.  “Yeah, that makes sense.  Why else?”

“Pardon?”

“What is your other reason for calling me your wife?” she asks.

He blinks at her, the picture of innocence and confusion.

“I have told you my reasoning.”

“Bullshit.”

He is angry again, up and pacing.

“Tell me your other reason,” she says.  “I know there is more.  You wouldn’t have gotten so pissy if it was just a lie to keep me safe.”

“You are mistaken.”

“Tell me.”

“Eleanor—“

“Just tell me, Loki.”

“It was a mistake!” he yells, fists clenched at his sides as he abruptly stops pacing.  “An error.  A slip of my silver tongue that seems to have lost much of its skill since finding you.”

“You accidentally called me your wife when talking to Thor?”

He closes his eyes rather than look at her.  The pacing slows to a stop and he leans back against the stone railing of the balcony.

“Yes,” he says.  “Although I should have thought of it before my error as it is the ideal solution to numerous problems.  If not for the stress of these last months I most definitely would have thought of it.”

Since the little Christmas incident when Loki managed to get a ring on her left hand, he’s called her his betrothed in public.  She didn’t pay him much attention, dismissing his actions as some game he plays with the mortals in their general vicinity.  She thought he was just being Loki, but she studies his grimace now and thinks that maybe to her God of Mischief it was real.

If he decided that they were really engaged on Christmas, when did he decide to upgrade their relationship status of married?

“Loki, come on,” she says.  “How do you accidentally say something like that?”

“It simply occurred, Eleanor.  What more do you want from me?”

“All that betrothal talk.  It was the real deal, wasn’t it?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I know not what you mean.” He seems to droop as he continues to lean on the railing, as if his shoulders are caving in.

“I thought it was just some weirdo Loki thing, but for you it was real.”  It should not be this shocking.  Like Loki, Eleanor believes if the last six months weren’t so stressful she would have figured this out sooner.

“The thought is abhorrent to you,” he snaps, resuming his pacing once more.  He covers his hurt in anger, but Eleanor knows that her reaction to this is not what he wants or needs.  “I will never speak of it again, although I must ask that you attempt to swallow your disgust at the idea when around my mother or any others.”

“Loki,” she says with a groan, rubbing her hands over her face.  “Can you relax?  Just come sit next to me and give me a few minutes to get my head around this.”

“I would rather stand.”

“Fine.”

She watches him pace and braids her hair.  Marriage is important to him.  Eleanor tries to fit this new piece of information into what she already knows about Loki.  It is a complicated picture.

“I honestly don’t give a shit about being married,” Eleanor says.

Loki glares at her.

“But the idea of being your wife does not disgust me, Loki,” she continues.  “It’s pleasant, I suppose.  And it does make sense.”

“Excellent.”  He moves to stand before her and Eleanor must lean way back in her seat to see his face.  “You are now my wife.  Glad we got that sorted.”

“What?” she squeaks, clutching her chest.  “You can’t just declare us married, Loki!”

“Why ever not?  You are my wife in all ways that hold any true meaning.  I need no Midgardian legal documentation or Asgardian ceremony to make this commitment real.”

Until this moment she never thought about getting married.  She wants him with her always and has tied her life to his in magical, unbreakable ways.  Compared to all that, marriage seems so ordinary, but it obviously holds great importance to the God of Surprises. 

In her mind she tests the word husband.  The term makes her giddy, but she holds back, needing more.

“I get it, but marriage is a two person deal there, Loki.  You do need me to agree.  You didn’t ask me.  That is so annoying.  I hate it when you don’t ask me things.”

“If I asked you could very well say no.”

“Fuck,” she mutters.  His fear of rejection is a palpable weight that sits heavy on Eleanor’s shoulders.  Even after all this time and all these choices, he still expects her to stop wanting him.  “Come here.”

This time he follows her request, lowering himself down onto the lounge at her side.  She immediately leans over to kiss him.

It is tentative and unsure at first, but she wraps her arms around his neck, needing him to get it.  She could easily go on kissing him indefinitely, but far too soon Loki pulls back.  He chuckles when he sees her pouting.

“Is that an answer to the question I failed to ask?” he murmurs.

“No.”

He bristles and tries to get up, but she pulls him back down.  He stares at his hands.

“No!  I mean, shit.  I’m not expressing myself here.  I am willing to consider this whole marriage business, but…”  She goes back to braiding her hair.  “But I need something first.”

“What? A proper proposal?  A wedding?  This could prove awkward given my family knows us as already married, but I suppose something between the two of us—“

“No,” she says.  “You’re right.  I don’t care about any of that ceremony but, um.  Well.  You know.”

“I most definitely do not know.”

“You have to let me say it.” The words seem to burst from her mouth on their own volition.  “I can’t be married to you if you won’t even let me say it.”

“Say _what_?” he snaps.

“I’m not asking you to say it back, but I need you to hear it and believe it.  Just once.”

It has been over two years since they’ve argued about this, but it only takes a few seconds for Loki to understand.

“No,” he says quietly, putting space between them.  He stands again and moving to the railing of the balcony, looking out over the Realm Eternal.

Twice before he’s knowingly and purposefully prevented her from making this declaration and she let him get away with it because he is a mess, because he only accepts what he thinks he deserves, but now he calls her his wife and she has to say it before she can consider him her husband.

She should have said it sooner, but he isn’t the only mess in this relationship.

“Why not?” she whispers.

“You do not lie, correct?” he asks.

Eleanor nods.

“I’d rather you not start now.”

Her frustration mounts and she pulls her hair into a messy bun, taking a moment to calm herself.

“I’m not lying,” she insists.  She gets up and walks to the railing, needing to see his eyes. “You are.”

He makes an angry sound but she gives him no time to respond further. 

“You are lying to yourself if you don’t think I really, truly love you, Loki, because I do.  I love you.  Like, a lot.” 

He closes his eyes and he looks happy, as if the words bring his troubled soul a little peace, but then he crumbles before her, actually sinking to his knees.  She’s used to these Asgardian dramatics from Thor, but never from her ever-stoic Loki.

She blinks down at him for a few moments, trying to quell her urge to giggle.

“What’s this?” she murmurs, tucking a stray chunk of hair behind his ear.  “After all this time do you really not trust me to know my own mind?  My own heart?”

He opens his mouth and closes it again.  He is as frightened and miserable as the morning she told him of her dreams.

“You’re scaring me,” she says, crouching in front of him.  She covers his knees with her hands.  “Just tell me.”

“You must promise to remain here, safe in the palace,” he says.  “Leave me alone in these rooms if you must or send me to the white cells, but promise not to leave Asgard.  You must be protected, Eleanor.”

“I promise.  I’m not going anywhere.”  She won’t leave him, but it seems like a waste of time to argue when she fully intends to prove it by being with him every day.

“I am well known as a manipulator,” he says. 

She gapes at him, having no idea where this is going.

“Since attempting to end this arrangement and upsetting you so thoroughly in the process—“

“You thought about killing me!”

“—I’ve kept my scheming to a minimum, but for one grand plot.”

“Okay,” she says, extremely wary now. 

He takes a deep breath.  “I… I tricked you into loving me.”

She stares at him for a moment. “Did you?” she asks, trying not to be amused. 

“Yes.  To ensure your continued devotion and fidelity.  To keep you as mine.”

Eleanor fights her grin. “And how exactly did you trick me into loving you?”

He gulps audibly and Eleanor cannot recall ever seeing him look so guilty.

“I was kind to you,” he says, hanging his head in shame.  “I strove to be the sort of partner you deserve.  I thought of your happiness before my own.”

It really is very sad, but it is also funny and Eleanor is unable to hold back a snort.  His head snaps up and the glare she receives would have most quaking in fear.

“Do you mock my confession?” he demands, his voice a low hiss.

“No,” she assures him.  Her fingers dig into his knees.  “No, I’m sorry.”  She giggles again.

“Eleanor!”

“Did it ever make you miserable?” She manages to get serious.  “Treating me with kindness and respect?  Did you hate it?”

“No,” he says, blinking at her in confusion.  “My mood is typically contingent on your mood.  It is nearly impossible to be miserable when you are happy.  Unless you are willfully ignoring your own safety, but no, Eleanor, I have not been miserable although I surely deserved to be, given the way I tricked you.”

She lets out a giggle and he snarls.

“Sorry!” she grabs at him, prevents him from getting to his feet and stomping off.  “Okay, so let me get this straight.  You almost lost me, all those years ago, and since then you’ve tried to be someone who deserves me?”

“Well, yes.”

“You’ve stopped seeking vengeance and power?” she asks.

“Unfortunately.”

“You’ve helped my friends rebuild the bridge you broke and even made it better for them.  You built a life with me in a place you hate, taught me magic, and did it all gladly because you want me to be happy?”

A little furrow appears between his brows.  “There is little I wouldn’t do to ensure your happiness.  What of it?”

The delighted chortle that escapes her throat has him attempting to flee again.  She crawls into his lap to keep him here with her.  He does not relax as Eleanor kisses his temple.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she says in his ear, continuing to hug him.  “This is no great manipulation.  You didn’t trick me.  We love each other.  That’s it.”

For a moment he freezes before he embraces her fiercely.  He wants to believe her, is struggling to believe her, but then he is withdrawing because he just can’t.

“Let me up.”  The traces of panic lace his voice and Eleanor scrambles out of his lap.  She follows him to the living room to watch him pace.

“Explain,” he demands.

“I make you want to be a better version of yourself,” she murmurs, eyes following his movements.  “You want to make me happy, want to see me grow and succeed.  You treat me with respect and kindness, and being with me makes you happy in turn, makes you whole.  Loki, everything you just said is like, the definition of love.  You didn’t manipulate me into anything.  We just love each other.”

He scoffs.  “I’ve duped you.”

“You’ve duped yourself,” she says, moving to stand in front of him.  “You are so wrong.  My beautiful God of Wrongness.”

When she wraps her arms around his waist, he is still wary, but not so angry or hurt.

“You are completely deluded.”

“If by deluded you mean in love, than yeah.  Okay.  Deluded.”

“Eleanor—”

“I love you.”

Loki sighs heavily and finally returns her embrace.

“I’m going to make you believe me.  I’m going to change your mind,” she says.

“Doubtful.” His hands tangle in her hair and she closes her eyes.  “But I suppose I can do nothing but enjoy watching you try.”

* * *

 

“Eleanor, I must ask,” Thor says, fiddling with the handle of his huge tankard of ale.  “How is Jane?  Is she well?  Does she miss me still?  I am not particularly proud of our last meeting.”

They sit in a tented café at the end of the bazaar where they spent the morning shopping, and Eleanor is not pleased that the thunder god is ruining the pristine view with this awkward conversation.  It’s killing her shopping buzz and ruining the novelty of sitting in the private section of the tent, apparently reserved for royals.

The market was remarkable.  She’s never been a big shopper, but she delighted in the stunning array of goods for sale.  Loki tucked gold into her cloak as he kissed her goodbye, and she spent nearly all of it, thoroughly boring Thor in the process. 

Her purchases include a gorgeous hanging sculpture of Yggdrasil, an illustrated history of Midgard that is horribly, hilariously inaccurate, a freaking lute, and a beautifully beaded bag to carry it all in. Thor gallantly insisted on shouldering the thing and Eleanor got a kick out of seeing the Crown Prince walk among the people carrying a green, sparkling purse.

She picked up a few yards of soft green fabric.  Sewing is on Frigga’s list of princess lessons, and Loki will appreciate the texture of the cloth if she ever manages to get good enough to construct a tunic.

Thor lingered in a hut full of weapons and Eleanor eyed a set of knives for Loki, but Thor put the kibosh on that idea real quick with a muttered “let us not encourage him.”

In lieu of weapons, she bought him a journal full of blank pages, thinking he might get tired of constantly reading and decide to write something of his own.  She also got him some strange dried fruit and roasted nuts that are apparently a favorite of his, according to Thor.

Eleanor was stared at a lot and she could hear the steady thrum of whispers as she wandered with Thor from stall to stall, but no one bothered her and all the merchants were very polite when she made their purchases. 

But they called her _Princess_ and that will never not be fucking weird.

Feet sore and totally exhausted, Eleanor readily agreed to stop for a drink on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the sea.

If she’d considered the possibility that Thor would ask about her best friend, Eleanor would probably have declined, despite the bomb cocktail that she is currently sipping right out of a huge crystal goblet.

“Well?” Thor asks again, doing his best impression of a sad puppy.  “Does she miss me?”

Eleanor struggles to lift her giant drink to her lips, but eventually manages a gulp.  The cup is the size of her face and she already feels a bit drunk.

“Yeah, she misses you.  But mostly she’s real pissed.”

“She dares to be pissed with me?” he booms.  Eleanor rolls her eyes.  “She sided with Loki over me.  She betrayed the trust of Asgard!  Insulted Heimdall by insinuating that his decisions to open the gate are not to be trusted!”

“Okay,” Eleanor says.  “This is the reason your last conversation crashed and burned.  Try to see it from her perspective.  You threw a hissy fit when Jane did her job and then you disappeared for a year.”

“It did not feel like a year,” he mutters.

“And if you really want someone who will blindly follow your every word, then look elsewhere.  I thought you liked that she challenges you,” Eleanor points out.

“I do.”

“Then what the fuck are you doing?”

Thor looks really uncomfortable.  He opens his mouth several times, choosing his words carefully.

“Technically speaking, I am your prince, Eleanor.  You really should not talk to me in such a way,” Thor mutters.

“Dude, what kind of relationship do you want with me?  Because if you want me to talk to you like a prince instead of my friend than don’t bother asking me about Jane.”

“A fair point,” Thor says.  “But do try to refrain from cursing at me in public.”

People are still staring intently and whispering constantly.  She shifts around, uncomfortable under their scrutiny, even with the distance between the normal dining area and the table she shares with Thor.

“Fine,” Eleanor says, keeping her voice quiet.  “So, are you going to answer my question?  What are you doing, Thor?”

He sighs heavily.  “I do not wish to cause you marital problems,” he mutters, hiding in his tankard.

Eleanor just gives him a look and it doesn’t take long for the God of Thunder to crack.

“The only reason I can think of for Jane to side with my brother over myself would be if the nature of their relationship changed while I was on Asgard,” Thor mutters.

“Well, Loki no longer wants to slaughter Jane where she stands.  Does that count?”

Thor scoots closer, whispering in Eleanor’s ear.  “They are romantically involved.”

Eleanor snorts.  “Are they?”

“It is the only reasonable explanation.”

The future King of Asgard is a complete moron.

“That’s what this is all about?” Eleanor says, trying not to laugh.  “You threw away all your progress with Loki and left Jane because you decided they were fucking?”

“Eleanor!” He looks around to ensure they were not over heard.  It’s unlikely, being as they are in some swanky, roped off section of the café.  “What did I just say in regards to cursing?”

“I didn’t curse at you,” she replies.  “I just cursed around you. And that theory is just stupid, Thor.  Jane sided with Loki because it was the right thing to do.  And do you really think Loki could pull off an affair like that without me figuring it out?”

“He is sneaky.”

Eleanor laughs.  “He can only be so sneaky when it’s physically impossible to be more than a couple miles away from me.  Plus, Jane is a shit liar and my best friend.  Loki might be sneaky, but Jane isn’t.  Plus, neither of them would ever do that.  They would never want too.”

“You make me feel foolish.”

“That’s because you’re acting foolish,” she says.  “You could have easily saved us all a lot of drama, and Jane a lot of heartache, if you talked to me about this before disappearing.  And Jane would kill you for thinking she’d do this, for thinking that sex would change her mind about something so important.  And Loki is going to be really grossed out.”

“You mean to tell him?” Thor looks like a scolded little kid.

“Oh, yeah.  Like, the second I get home.  This is all very entertaining.”

Thor sighs.  “Do as you must.  But what can I do?  To rectify the situation with Jane?”

Eleanor shrugs.  “Talk to her, I guess.  Say you’re sorry.  What else can you do?”

“I feared that would be your counsel,” mutters Thor.

Eleanor chuckles.

“Have I offended you as well, sister?  With my assumption?”

“Eh, sorta.  I forgive you, though.  You have been carrying around my purse all day.”

“Purse!”

His horror has Eleanor giggling into her face-sized drink.

* * *

 

When she gets back to their rooms, Eleanor is happy and Loki struggles not to resent her for it. 

He resents his false brother instead, for her outing with Thor was time away from Loki and his prison. 

He is a mere four days into his imprisonment.  Eleanor’s frequent departures are something he will need to accept.

It is also four nights free of Eleanor’s dreams or sleepwalking.

She tugs on his tunic as he opens the doors, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy as she pulls him down for a kiss.  Along with his resentment, Loki feels such relief that she is safe, that she returns to their shared rooms unscathed.

It is a sensation that plagues him whenever she departs.  His worry is twofold. 

First, he is convinced that she will one day leave, never to return of her own free will.  The fear defies logic as she’s proved her devotion countless times, the most recent when she completely dismissed his confessed manipulations as farce.  Despite this, he still lives in terror that she will not stay forever.

But even worse, he fears for her safety.  With her out of his sight, his mind conjures endless scenarios that end with Eleanor hurt or killed or stolen away, brought to London and consumed by an unknown darkness.  Loki would never allow her outside the safety of the palace without Thor at her side.

But she is unharmed now, and happy to see him.

A bit too happy.

“Are you intoxicated?” he asks, breaking the kiss.

“Thor bought me a face-sized drink,” she replies, giving Loki another reason to resent the Crowned Oaf.

The Oaf in question is pulling a large beaded bag off his shoulders.  It is green and Loki grins at the image of Thor as Eleanor’s personal packhorse.

“I apologize, Brother,” he says, bowing slightly.

“For buying my wife a face-sized drink?”  Loki asks.  “Apology not accepted.”

“No, no,” Thor says, shuffling and looking exceedingly uncomfortable.  “My behavior towards you this last Midgardian year has been unjust.  Eleanor will explain, but I am sorry.”

Loki frowns, unsure what to think or feel of such an odd statement.  Apologies from the thunder god are rare and this one feels far too late, but Thor is gone before Loki can ask for an explanation.

Eleanor moves away, sitting on a lounge and reaching for her bag.

“What was that?” he manages, joining her.

“Oh, turns out Thor was such a dick last year because he thought you and Jane were banging.”

“Pardon?” He gapes at the back of Eleanor as she turns away from him, rummaging through her bag.  “ _Banging_?”

“Yup.”  She places a book in his lap.  “Is this the kind of crap kids learn in school here?  I can’t read the captions, of course, but if this is supposed to be a serious illustrated history of Midgard it is wrong, wrong, wrong.”

Given Thor’s accusation, Eleanor is annoyingly unbothered.

The mere thought of Eleanor with another is enough to send Loki into a homicidal rage, but Eleanor sits next to him, flipping through the pages of a picture book, calm and collected.

She truly does hold all the power in this relationship – without taking into account the power of her command – simply because he cares more, he needs more, despite her delusional belief that she loves him.

“And you replied?  I take it you do not believe him?” Loki pushes.  This is equally humiliating.  She knows he would never stray because she knows she holds all the power.

“I told him that he is a moron.”

“Are you so sure of the sway you hold over me?” he asks, attempting to disguise his hurt as anger.

Something in his tone has her finally removing her concentration from her purchases to study him instead.

“I am sure that you are with me far too often to have an affair and I’m sure that Jane is a shit liar, unfortunate given who she works for.  I’m sure that you still look at Jane like she smells bad and I’m sure that Jane wouldn’t have agreed with you if she thought you were wrong about the Bifrost, even if you were giving her a hundred orgasms a day.”

Eleanor wrinkles her nose, frowning at the thought and Loki is slightly mollified. 

“And until you got all cranky about it, yes, I was sure of your affections but now you’re making it seem like a bad thing that I trust you not to cheat on me,” she says, pouting at him.

Loki feels a bit foolish.  “And did Thor believe you? When you told him that Jane agreed with me based on merit alone?” 

Once more, Loki transfers his anger to Thor, where it should have been from the start.

“I think so.”

“Good.”

She leans over, whispering in his ear.  “If you ever touch another, I’ll chop off your hands.”

Loki grins, laughs, and then kisses her.

“That seems reasonable,” Loki agrees.  Although desiring another seems unfathomable, he would deserve to lose his hands for sheer stupidity if he ever ruined this, if he ever hurt her in such a way.

Eleanor smiles.  “Can I show you what I bought?” she bounces in her seat, as giddy as a child.  Her enthusiasm is infectious.

“Of course, my sweet songbird.  Tell me, was my coinage well spent?”

“Totally,” she says, gesturing to the book still on his lap. 

“An outdated history book for children in a language you do not comprehend?”

“The pictures alone are hilarious,” Eleanor says, grinning at him expectantly.  He does not understand her delight. “Oh, never mind.  I’ll give it to Jane.”

“What else?” he asks.

“Snacks,” she says, dropping two neatly packaged bundles in his lap.

“Thor said that these are your favorite.  He wouldn’t let me buy you a knife.  And feel how soft this fabric is.” 

He does.  “Soft.”

“I’m going to let your mom teach me how to sew you a tunic.”

It seems the focus of Eleanor’s shopping was Loki.  This pleases him greatly.

“You need not sew if you do not wish too,” he says, running the fabric though his fingers. 

“Well, it’s a princess lesson and princess lessons are mandatory.  Plus, it will make your mom happy.”  She shrugs.

“The happiness of my wife is of greater import than the happiness of my mother.” 

Eleanor rolls her eyes but does not dispute this claim.  “I don’t mind.  But you have to promise to wear what I make you.”

He winces.  “Luckily I am a prisoner with no one to impress.”

She goes on to show him the rest of her purchases.  The bound book of blank pages is something he will most certainly put to good use.

When Eleanor pulls out a beautifully crafted model of Yggdrasil, Loki freezes.  The sculpture is made to hang over the crib of an infant.  Eleanor holds it up, admiring the branches, and Loki is stunned, thinking of the long ago visions of the Tesseract.

Eleanor is sweaty and happy, a child with blue hair and Eleanor’s eyes, banging away at the piano. 

They are the single most puzzling and painful possibilities he saw in the Tesseract.  Until this moment, some five years later, Loki did not allow himself to think on these visions once after witnessing them originally, but it is impossible to keep from recollecting them now as Eleanor presents him with a mobile used to stimulate infants.

As Eleanor babbles happily, spinning the mobile, it becomes clear that she knows not what she purchased.

Disappointment and relief fill him in equal measure. 

He is pleased that he has not passed on his monstrous genetics.  Given their tenuous position, this lack of child is a blessing.  A pregnancy would put Eleanor at considerable risk physically, and it would be criminal to curse a child with such an array of mismatched genetics.  Creation of such a child should be impossible, given what Eleanor is, what Loki is.

But the Tesseract crafted such a beautiful vision and Loki struggles to forget how it felt to have a family that was well and truly, without doubt, _his_.

“You don’t like it,” Eleanor asks, frowning.

“I do not like it,” Loki agrees.  This is a lie, but for once Eleanor does not notice.

“Oh,” she deflates slightly.  “Okay.  Well, I’ll give this to Jane too.”

“No!”  The violence of his reply makes Eleanor blink but he carefully takes the mobile, placing it back in its box.  “We shall store it.  Perhaps someday I will like it.”

“Okay, weirdo.  Do you want to go have sex?”

Eleanor never fails to ask for what she wants and her guileless manner never fails to shock him.

“Well, yes.”

* * *

 

“Tomorrow is princess lesson time,” Eleanor says, joining Loki on the couch where he sits, familiarizing himself with an ancient text in hopes that it will contain some clue as to the dangers surrounding Eleanor.

“Yes.”

“I guess it will be good to have something to do.”

Loki sighs.  The morning may bring Eleanor new purpose, but without her to entertain him he will be thoroughly bored.  He will have his books and he will continue to research these threats, but his life will be dull and depressing until Eleanor returns in the evenings.

“Are you going to be okay while I’m off doing whatever lame shit your mom wants me to do?” she asks.

“I will endure.”  He grins slightly, pleased that Eleanor at least recognizes the unpleasantness of the coming days.

Eleanor kisses the corner of his mouth and then settles at his side, pushing her feet under his thighs and laying her head on the back of the sofa.

She does nothing but watch him.  Loki fights his grin.

“Did no one teach you that it is impolite to stare?” he asks, not glancing up from the ancient pages.

“It’s your fault, for being so damn pretty.  How could I possibly not stare?”

“Do not call me pretty.”

“Beautiful?”

“No.”

“Glorious.”

“That is acceptable, I suppose.”

Eleanor laughs and snuggles close.  He allows her to slip under his arm and strokes her hair, continuing to read.  She produces a sound from her chest, low and content, and Loki would very much like to believe her when she claims to truly love him.

But it is unfathomable.  He simply cannot.

Eleanor closes her eyes, breaths coming deep and even.  Her presence makes reading a bit difficult, for watching her face so restful is far more appealing.

A knock sounds at the door and Loki’s eyes snap back to the book in his lap as Eleanor sits up.

“I am occupied,” he says without glancing at her.  There are only a few people the guards stationed outside the door would let close enough to knock.  Loki has little desire to speak to any of them with the exception of Frigga.

“Fine.”   She huffs in frustration and crosses the room to the door.  It swings open when she is still a few feet away.  In storms the thunder god, almost running her over with furious steps.

“Dude, watch it.”

Loki stops reading to glare at his brother.

“I went to Midgard,” says Thor.  “At your urging, Sister, I went to Midgard to explain my prolonged absence to Jane.”

“Oh, boy.”

“It did not go as planned, Eleanor.”

“Yeah, I can tell by the way you are freaking out.  Come sit down.”

Loki has exactly no sympathy for the thunder god’s plight.  His estrangement with Jane is the result of his own immense stupidity and inability to reason.  It is infuriating that Thor did not believe Loki capable of swaying Jane through the merits of his argument alone.

Although Loki supposes it is also a compliment, in a backhanded, extremely offensive way.  Thor thinks Loki is seductive enough to sway one such as Jane Foster to his side through sexual prowess.

Loki smirks slightly as Eleanor takes her seat at his side.  Thor drops into a chair across from them, shooting guilty glances at Loki every few seconds.  He enjoys the oaf’s discomfort and slings an arm across the back of the lounge, idly fiddling with Eleanor’s hair.

“I am a fool.”

Thor’s misery only makes Loki grin wider.  “Do not be too terribly hard on yourself, Brother.  It is merely your natural state.  Do we expect a dog to be more than a dog?  No, we do not and you are a fool, through and through.”

Thor hangs his head in shame.

Loki chuckles again until he makes the mistake of looking to Eleanor.  Her arms are crossed over her chest and she appears decidedly unhappy.  She raises an eyebrow and Loki nods once, confirming that he will follow her silent instruction to cease with his verbal evisceration of his extremely idiotic brother.

“I explained my theories involving her and Loki.  I have never seen her so angry.  It was terrifying.”

Loki chuckles but this time Eleanor simply rolls her eyes.

“I conveyed my deepest love and warmest wish for us to reconcile.  I was rebuffed,” Thor says.  He frowns at his hands as if confused.  This does seem like the first moment in Thor’s existence where he is not getting exactly what he wants. 

Loki gets great joy from his brother’s utter dejection, but Eleanor is watching the golden prince with sympathy, totally absorbed in Thor’s wounded puppy routine.

She silently stands, selecting a flagon of wine leftover from their supper.  Without a word she presses the drink into Thor’s chest.  He drinks deeply and Loki resigns himself to a long evening spent listening to Thor’s baleful moaning.

If Thor is unable to keep the love of a woman then what hope is there for Loki?  This latest turn of events is further proof of Eleanor’s confusion.

And if Loki does by some miracle have Eleanor’s love now, there is no conceivable way that he will be able to keep it.


	9. Princess Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1st beta: Heather  
> Final beta: Erica

“Today, you will begin with history from before the dawning of the universe,” Frigga says, pacing the length of the library.  Eleanor sits at a table, following the goddess with her eyes, while Loki leans against a bookshelf.  “The darkness of the before and the birth of light.”

“The dawning of the universe?” Eleanor asks, already overwhelmed by simply discussing her Princess Lessons.  She slumps down in her chair, elbows resting heavy on the smooth wooden tabletop.  She is pouting and childish but cannot seem to help it. “This is sounding like a lot of history.  Like… a lot.”

“Indeed.  Thousands upon thousands of years.  You will learn it all.  Our most acclaimed historian will personally tutor you.”

Wide-eyed and nauseous, Eleanor turns her pleading gaze on Loki.

“You’ll find it fascinating, I’m sure, my dear,” he says, unable to hide his amusement or his smirk.

“I thought you were the one getting punished here, not me,” Eleanor says.

“It is not punishment, but a blessing,” Loki replies.  Frigga nods along like her son isn’t being a sarcastic little shit.

“You’ll help me,” Eleanor insists.  “If I’m doing this, then you’re doing this.”

“I will help you,” he says, continuing to chuckle at her.  “But you will not learn anything I do not already know.”

“Oh, well aren’t you special, my God of Useless History.”

“It is not useless, Eleanor,” Frigga lectures.  “It is the foundation of Asgard, what makes us who we are, and understanding our stories, _your_ stories, will help you understand your people.”

The Queen of Asgard sure is bossy, but Loki is here in his rooms rather than trapped in the white cells and Eleanor is safe, so it looks like she will be learning thousands of years of Asgardian history.

“Why do I need to understand these people?  They hate my boy—”

Loki accidently (on purpose) knocks a book off the shelves and makes a scene of picking it up, sending Eleanor a significant look. 

“They hate my husband,” she corrects.  “They think I’m an abomination.  Why does it matter if I understand them?”

Frigga sighs heavily and takes the seat across from Eleanor. Her expression is serious and Eleanor watches her, wary.

“I will not be queen forever, Eleanor,” she says.  “As of now the most likely candidate for my replacement is a Midgardian scientist beyond my reach.  And last I heard she was refusing to so much as look upon the heir to the throne. You are my family, Eleanor, and although you will never be queen, you will be her confidante.  There is no other I would rather put in charge of my legacy.”

Eleanor sits straight up in her chair and her eyes get a bit misty.

“I am not blind to the prejudices of the Aesir, Eleanor, but you have a rare opportunity to change those prejudices. Real, lasting change, for you are special and they will come to see it.”

A few tears fall.  Eleanor wipes uselessly at her cheeks with her fingers and Loki moves to stand behind her, his hands on her shoulders a reassuring weight.

“Know our ways and make them your own,” continues the queen.  “Know the people and in turn let them know you.  And the simple act of meeting you will challenge all those preconceived notions regarding superiority and purity and other prejudices that you and I both find so repugnant.”

“Oh,” says Eleanor.  In just a handful of words Frigga’s converted her from a skeptic to a believer.  “Okay.  I am fully on board with the Princess Lessons.  I’m not sure that I can do all that, but I’ll try.  I’ll really try.”

Frigga smiles, reaching across the table to take Eleanor’s hand.  “You are a good daughter.”

“Oh.”  She is really crying now.  That is the sort of statement she hasn’t heard since Harrison died.  “Okay.”

Eleanor wipes her eyes on the skirt of her dress and gets it together, resolved to act like a motherfucking princess.

“So thousands of years of history,” Eleanor says, voice strong and eyes free of tears. Loki stops touching her to take up his pacing.  “What else?”

Frigga stands again, ticking off various lessons on her fingers. 

Etiquette.  Sewing.  Fighting.  Music. Half of that Eleanor is pretty stoked for and she thinks she’ll be able to handle the rest.  Despite all that, it seems her main goal is to meet and charm the Asgardian elite.

“But first.”  Frigga leaves Loki’s library and Eleanor gets to her feet, peeking around the corner to see her fake mother-in-law open the doors to the hall.  A few words are exchanged and a plainly dressed, beautiful woman comes to stand in their rooms.  Frigga shuts the door behind them and gestures for Loki and Eleanor to come closer.

This Aesir is tall and willowy, but something about her stricken expression makes her look young.

“This is Neela,” Frigga says.  “Neela, may I present Prince Loki and Princess Eleanor.  You will be delivering their meals and assisting Eleanor in all matters of maintaining her appearance.”

“My prince,” says Neela, bowing at Loki.  “My princess.”  Eleanor receives the next bow and has never felt more uncomfortable in her life.

Loki nods and immediately loses interest, wandering off to the balcony.  Eleanor gapes, loathing this princess gig more with each passing moment.

“Hi, Neela,” she says.  “You can call me Eleanor.”

Neela, if possible, looks even more terrified in response to this statement.

“You are dismissed for now, Neela,” Frigga murmurs.  “You are to return with the evening meal.  Thank you.”

Neela bows to both Frigga and Eleanor before sprinting out of the rooms.

“She will not call you Eleanor,” says Frigga the moment the door closes.  “Princess Lesson the First.  Do not force the servants to call you by your given name.  It will make them horribly uncomfortable.”

“Isn’t this the sort of thing I am supposed to be changing?” Eleanor asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

“There is no need to dismantle all of Asgardian societal norms on your first day, Eleanor,” Frigga gently chastises.  “She will refer to you as Princess.  Perhaps, one day, if you become quite close, she will refer to you as Princess Eleanor.”

Eleanor groans, burying her face in her hands.  “This is going to be so fucking weird.”

“Princess Lesson the Second.  Such language is never to be used.  Now off to your tutor.  Your attire is acceptable, but do allow Neela to fix your hair tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

Eleanor does not allow Neela to fix her hair the following morning.  Eleanor will give the princess gig all she’s got, but the hair stays as one little act of individuality and rebellion.  A messy blonde testament to her Midgardian roots.

 

* * *

Loki leans against the railing of the balcony and sips his tea.  It is a Midgardian blend and one of the only things he truly grew to appreciate during his time there.  Tea and ice cream are the most brilliant of mortal inventions.

Although steam showers and university libraries also make the list.

He does not miss their life on Midgard, just the freedom he enjoyed there, but he now inhales deeply, enjoying that subtle and indescribable scent so unique to the Realm Eternal. 

The morning is quiet and Loki takes the moment to rejoice in the view he’s known intimately since his youth, free of any guilt or resentment or bitterness.  He ignores unpleasant memories and his festering anger towards the Allfather.

For a few quiescent minutes he is no prisoner as he simply allows the stunning landscape before him to provide comfort.  He looks from the gardens and the courtyard below his balcony to the glittering waterway that meanders through ivy-covered stone structures.  The rainbow bridge and the Bifrost pavilion with space beyond are just visible to his left and jagged peaks dominate the right.  Blue, cloudless sky fades to black, speckled with stars above him.

Loki drinks his tea and he is content.

A knock on their door threatens his inner peace, but when his mother enters, pushing a cart with their breakfast, his good mood stays.  Moving through gauzy curtains, Loki joins the queen at the table. 

They talk quietly about nothing of particular import and Loki makes his mother tea.  The Midgardian brew delights her and although she had similar drinks centuries ago, she forgot how much she enjoys the heat and taste.

The day gets a bit brighter and Loki can feel the energy of people up and starting the day’s work: servants in the garden, fisher folk out on the water, royal advisers moving about the palace. 

Eleanor is conspicuously absent from this morning activity.

“Where is your wife, Loki?” Frigga asks, cradling her mug.  “It is not like her to sleep so late.  And her first music lessons are in a few hours’ time.  I thought her excitement would have her up and about much earlier than now.”

Loki quite agrees.  “I shall check on her.”

Their bedroom is dark, thick drapes pulled over the archways barely fluttering in the morning breeze.  Not even an ember glows in the fireplace.

“Shut the door.  It’s too bright out there.”

Puzzled by his wife’s shaky demand, Loki does as she says.  As his eyes adjust to the darkness he crawls back into bed, feeling around for his wife until he is under the thin blanket to face her.

“Mother is here,” Loki says.  “Would you care to join us for breakfast?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

He blinks, just able to make out the shape of her lips and her shining eyes.

“No?” he asks again, bemused.

“I’m staying here all day.”

“But you begin music lessons in a few hours.”

“I don’t feel good.  I’m sick.”

“You do not get sick.”

“Just because you have not seen me sick does not mean I don’t get sick.”

Loki snaps his fingers and the drapes fly open.  Sunlight streams in and Eleanor hisses.

“You are not sick,” Loki declares after thoroughly examining her face in the light of day for a few moments.

“Fine.  I’m not sick but I’m not going to music lessons either.  I’ll do the rest of the fucking princess gig, but not the music.”

Loki is beyond confused.  Processing his wife’s odd behavior, he once more exits the bedroom.

“Mother,” he says.  “Perhaps you could return just before Eleanor’s lessons?  She is rather tired this morning.”

“Of course.”  Frigga looks concerned as she departs. 

Loki goes back to Eleanor, approaching her with great caution.  She’s pulled the blanket up over her head.  He makes a halfhearted attempt to wrangle the thing away from her, but then lets her win.  Instead, he joins her again.

Once under the blanket, he kisses her a bit until she relaxes slightly.

“What are we doing under the blanket?” he asks.

“Hiding.”

“Ah.  What from?”

“Music lessons.”

In this moment Loki questions everything he thought he knew about Eleanor Tate.

“This is reasonable.  Music lessons are notoriously dangerous.  They are most assuredly out to get you.”

“You’re teasing me.”

Loki cracks a smile.  “Just a bit.”

Eleanor rolls her eyes and wiggles closer, kissing him once more.  Loki allows this, letting Eleanor work out whatever it is she is grappling with on his mouth and enjoying it immensely.  When she pushes at his shoulder, attempting to mount him, Loki ends the little distraction.   He pulls away and raises a questioning eyebrow.

“Fine!  I don’t want to go, okay?” she says.

“Yes, I gathered as much.”

She huffs, struggling to pull the blanket from their heads.  When she frees them, Eleanor once more hisses at the light.

“You must understand my confusion.  Only three weeks past, you agreed to these lessons of music with enthusiasm.  What has changed since we first arrived here?” he asks.

Eleanor sits up and he sits up also.

“I was excited before I remembered that I’m only good at the music stuff on Midgard.”

He blinks at her.  “Pardon?”

“My talent isn’t because of me.  I only seem special on Midgard because there are no Asgardians, singing better than I sing.  Here, voices like mine must be a dime a dozen.”

It takes a few beats of silence but Loki finally understands.  Laughter is obviously the wrong reaction, but the guffaw leaves his chest unbidden.

“Dude!  Are you really laughing at me?”

“Just a bit.”

Eleanor glares as no one has ever glared before.  Loki reins in his amusement because Eleanor is having some sort of crisis of confidence, as ridiculous as it might be.  Not once has she expressed doubt in her talent as a musician and Loki decides that such doubts will never plague her again.

“The notion that your talent could be matched on any realm is absurd.  I apologize for my inappropriate laughter,” Loki says.

Eleanor narrows her eyes.  “Explain.”

“Your voice has no equal, Eleanor.”

“You’re just saying that to get in my pants.”

Loki laughs.  “I need no flattery to get in your pants.”

“Good point.”

“Your voice is an unprecedented delight on any realm.  Perhaps Bragi’s tone is comparable, but he lacks heart.  You, my love, are all heart, and I hear it in every note you sing, every instrument you play.  Even Bragi could not master the harp in a week’s time, as you did.”

“I didn’t master it.  Just figured out the basics.” 

“False modesty is strange on you, Eleanor.  And your talent is your own.”

“Really?” she asks, skeptical still.

“Would I lie?”

“I don’t know, oh God of Lies, would you?”  Eleanor smiles and it feels like a great victory.

“Even I am not that good.”

Eleanor braids a chunk of wild, blond hair and works her bottom lip between two teeth.  “You think I should go to the music lessons,” she says.

“I do.  If anything, Asgardian music will disappoint you.  It lacks passion.  And variety.  The Aesir have a fixation on horned instruments and I know these are far from your preference,” Loki says.

“Only because I can’t play a trumpet and sing at the same time.”  Eleanor leans into his side and Loki smiles softly.

“All the songs are literal,” he continues, wanting to set clear expectations.  “There is little metaphor or descriptive language.  Nearly every song that includes lyrics is a factual recitation of past victories or chants to accompany drinking.”

He should have confessed this sooner, but he feared that if Eleanor knew the lack of interesting Asgardian music she would refuse to move here with him.

“It will be you that comes to teach the Aesir of music, Eleanor, not the other way round,” he says.

“Okay,” she replies, hopping out of bed.  He is coming to truly admire her decisiveness. “I’ll go.  But if I embarrass myself you owe me five orgasms.”

“Done.”

* * *

 

Eleanor embarrasses herself. 

Although she stuns all with her divine voice and quick study, she somehow falls into the bell of an excessively large horn.  It takes near fifteen minutes to remove her.

She accuses Loki of orchestrating the whole ordeal but he just smiles and goes about the business of fulfilling his end of the bargain. 

* * *

In one month’s time Eleanor can flawlessly play every sort of Asgardian horn.  She masters the lute and the harpsichord.  She teaches the guitar to all manner of interested parties.

* * *

“He’s driving me crazy, Thor!” Eleanor says with a little too much volume given they are surrounded by Asgardians.  The training ground seems particularly crowded today. 

“I do not see how your marital issues are any of my concern,” replies the golden god.  “And who is this?”

Eleanor glances over her shoulder at the very nervous, very young guard, loitering behind her as always.

“Ido,” she says.

“Who is this Ido?” demands Thor.

“He’s the guard Loki badgered into following me around when I leave the safety of the palace.  Be nice.  He is shy.”

“He is an Einherjar!”

“He is a shy Einherjar.”  She waves at Ido, making the poor guy shuffle his feet in discomfort.  “And can we please focus on Loki, Thor?  And the fact that he’s driving me crazy.”

“Again, I refuse to focus on your marital issues.”  He sticks his giant head in a giant barrel of water.  When he emerges he whips his hair back, soaking the front of Eleanor’s simple green gown.

“We’re not having marital issues, you oaf,” she says as he dries his face on a towel.  “We’re great.  We’re awesome.  We’re super in love, but he is so freaking annoying.”

Thor chuckles.

“Hey!  Don’t you mock me.  At least I’m in a successful relationship,” she replies.

“What do you mean?” Thor asks, no longer amused.

“I don’t think you want to know,” she says, stealing his towel to dry her dress. 

“I do indeed want to know, Eleanor.”

“Your last conversation with Jane was an abysmal failure,” she says, making him frown.  “And don’t even get me started on Sif.”

“What about Sif?”

“You really don’t know?”

Thor blinks.

“Okay, whatever.  The point is, your brother is bored.  Have you ever been around bored Loki?  It’s horrifying.”

Thor gets serious fast, giant ham hands gripping her shoulders.  He intently studies her, getting his huge face far too close to her face.

“Tell me true, sister,” Thor says.  “Has he harmed you?  Caused you any hurts, physical or otherwise?”

“What?  No,” she says, slapping his hands away.  He doesn’t seem to notice.

“I mean no offense,” Thor says.  “It is not an absurd question given his history.”

“It’s been years and he was a bit brainwashed at the time,” she says.  “This is why you two fight so much.  You tend to forget that he’s changed.  And he can’t forget every little way you ever hurt him.”

Thor sighs.  “He has not hurt you?”

With a frustrated growl, she wiggles away from him.

“No, he’s annoying me!” she says.  “He is messing with my instruments.  I can’t catch him at it, but he gets them just a tiny bit out of tune, enough for me to notice but not so much that he’s obvious.  He moves all my stuff so I can’t find anything.  Everything I touch turns into snakes or ladybugs or flowers.  All my clothes are the exact same shade of green.  He’s totally insatiable!  Which is great.  Was great.  Is great.  _Was_ great.  He’s great, like really crazy great, but I’m tired, Thor.  I need sleep.  He naps all day and touches me all night and I think the lack of sleep is making me hysterical!”

“On that point we agree,” mutters Thor.

“Save me from your annoying brother, the God of Sex!”

She is making a scene.  Warriors gape at her while Thor actually blushes.

“Come,” he says, tugging on her elbow.  “This is no place for a discussion such as this.”

“Just give him a purpose.  A task.  An activity.  Because he’s bored and a bored Loki is a dangerous Loki.”

 

* * *

 

“Brother!”  The booming voice is an extremely unpleasant way to wake up and Eleanor jerks against Loki.  “Sister!  Eleanor!”

Her still-traumatized god sits up, eyes wild and frightened.  A wicked dagger appears in his hand.  Eleanor clings to his side.

“It’s just Thor,” she murmurs, rubbing his back.  “It’s just your brother.  We’re safe.”

His breathing settles and he nods. The knife disappears. They lie back down.

“Why is he here?” Loki mutters, rolling on top of her.  She gives him a sleepy smile as he pushes her hair off her forehead.

“We should get up,” she says.  “We have a guest.”

“I am up.”  Loki grinds against her, proving the truth in his words. 

“Loki.”  She tries to scold him but his name comes out a breathless sigh.  As she shifts she is reminded of her soreness. 

“Eleanor.”

“Loki,” she says, wincing and pushing on his shoulder.  “Thor is here.”

He kisses her neck.  

“I mean it!” she says.  “You wore me out yesterday and Thor is here.”

“Brother!  Sister!”  Thor yells, banging on their bedroom door now.  “Arise!”

“Why does he insist on calling you that?” Loki mutters, rolling off her.  As he pouts Eleanor kisses his pale shoulder.

“Because you are his brother and he thinks we are married.”

“We are married,” Loki snaps.

The door is thrown open.  Eleanor shrieks and pulls the blankets over her head, hiding her nudity.

“Thor, you fool!” Loki shouts, hands fluttering around Eleanor to make sure there are no naked bits visible to his big brother. 

“Good morning!” replies Thor.

“Get out,” says Loki.

“He’ll slay you where you stand!” Eleanor imitates Loki, her voice muffled from under the blankets.

“Eleanor, upon dressing, I must request you alter your command that keeps Loki contained in these rooms to include the courtyard below us,” Thor says.

Eleanor grins and sits up, securing the blanket under her armpits to keep herself covered.

“Why?” Loki hisses, eyes narrowed and suspicious.

Thor shuffles, glancing at Eleanor.  The Crown Prince really doesn’t have a poker face.  He could learn a thing or two from Loki.  How he plans to rule Asgard with the whole I-cannot-tell-a-lie thing he’s got going on is beyond Eleanor. 

She glares at Thor now, who stutters out nonsense.

“What?” Loki says, turning to scowl at Eleanor now.  “Have you two been conspiring behind my back?”

Oh damn.  He’s pissed.

“Brother, you misunderstand,” Thor says.

“Yes,” replies Eleanor.  “I went to Thor.  There has been conspiring.”

Loki snarls.  It’s not all that scary with his hair adorably mussed.

“You, my God of Mischief, have been fucking with my instruments,” she says with a glare of her own.  As she pokes him in the chest, punctuating her words.  Loki’s expression changes from pissed to baffled to gleeful to innocent.

“I know not what you mean,” he replies, studying his fingernails. 

“I’ll put my guitar down for ten minutes and you’ll tweak it just enough to annoy me.  Don’t even try to deny it.  I know.”

Loki chuckles and kisses her soundly.  Thor clears his throat and Eleanor forgets what they were just discussing.

“My wife,” he says, making her heartbeat get a bit wonky.  “Ever perceptive.”

“Eleanor,” Thor says, clearing his throat again.  “The courtyard?”

“Why?” demands Loki, angry and suspicious again.

“I, well, you see.”  Thor is stuttering.  It makes Eleanor smile.  “I thought perhaps we could spar.  As we once did.”

Loki raises an eyebrow and stays quiet.

“No weapons, of course,” says Thor.

“Of course,” says Loki, mocking his brother.

“That’s perfect,” Eleanor says, tugging on Loki’s arm.  “You can burn off all that energy you spend pranking me.”

“I fear I allowed myself to fall grotesquely out of fighting condition in recent years.  You would be bored to tears, no doubt,” Loki replies.

“What?  No.  You’re doing it.”  Eleanor turns to Thor.  “He’s doing it.”

“I though you would like to return to optimal physical condition to best protect Eleanor,” Thor says.  “What with these alleged dangers looming.”

Loki smirks, recognizing Thor’s blatant manipulation.

“When do we start?” asks Loki.

 

* * *

 

“What is this?”

Eleanor sits on a bench at the edge of the courtyard, fiddling with her banjo as she watches the brothers duel in the distance.  At Sif’s question, Eleanor jumps slightly.

“Does no one knock anymore?” mutters Eleanor, abandoning the instrument in her lap to clutch at her rapidly beating heart.

“Pardon?”  The warrior takes a seat next to Eleanor.

“This is a banjo.”  She plucks out a few infamous chords of _Dueling Banjos_.  Unsurprisingly, Sif does not get the joke.

“How peculiar,” Sif says, joining Eleanor on the bench.

Eleanor hums in acknowledgement, switching to clawhammer, something more old time than bluegrass.  For long, peaceful moments they do not talk.

“How did this happen?” Sif asks, nodding towards the fighting brothers.  Loki is quick and graceful while Thor is all power.  Watching makes Eleanor nervous.

“This is my doing,” Eleanor says.

“Why?”

Eleanor shrugs, seeing no reason to fill in the warrior on her little domestic drama.  Sif huffs, obviously pissed.

“You don’t like me,” Eleanor observes.

“I would not go so far as that, Princess.”

“Oh, Jesus, do not call me that.”

“Jesus?” Sif asks, blinking.  “What does he have to do with my opinion of you?”

Eleanor sighs and really misses her friends back on Midgard.  She takes a deep breath and tries again.

“So is it my friendship with Jane Foster or my relationship with Loki?” Eleanor asks, putting the banjo down as Loki narrowly dodges Thor’s fist.

“On numerous occasions he attempted to kill Thor,” she finally replies.  “This is unforgivable, yet you wed him.”

“He’s a flawed individual,” Eleanor agrees.  “But he is trying. And he loves Thor.”

“I do not think him capable of such a thing.”

Eleanor sighs.  “Do you have any girlfriends, Sif?”

“Pardon?”

 “Friends who—“

“I have friends!”

“— are women.”

“Oh,” says the warrior.  “I’m rather fond of my maid.  And I believe the Queen holds me in high regard.”

Eleanor watches Sif watch the boys.  “I recently discovered how great it is to have girlfriends,” Eleanor says.  “I have two.  And my sister.  I miss them.  Letter writing is no replacement for girl talk.”

Sif nods.

“We could be friends,” Eleanor says, the eagerness in her own tone is embarrassing. 

“Could we?” Sif asks, turning to stare at Eleanor. 

They are opposites in every obvious way.  Sif is strong, her body a honed war machine.  She is tall, dark, and ripped.  Eleanor shamelessly covets her curves.  The warrior doesn’t seem to have much of a sense of humor and she is intense in a way that Eleanor so is not but Eleanor recognizes a loneliness in the Lady Sif that she is very familiar with.

“Sure,” Eleanor replies.  “Why not?”

“I am not particularly fond of your husband.”

“That is the general consensus around here,” Eleanor mutters.  “We just won’t talk about him.”

“And what exactly shall we talk about?” Sif asks.

“You could tell me how you became such a bad ass fighting machine,” Eleanor says.

Asgardians, for all their beauty and wealth, are a sexist, racist, classist lot.  There seems to be virtually no poverty here, even beyond the opulent confines of the palace.  Their access to resources and ancient culture has led to the kind of superiority that has Asgard condemning Jotunheim as evil and Midgard as stupid.  The place is rife with misogyny and racial superiority, but here is Sif, most respected of warriors.

Frigga talks about Eleanor changing things, but Sif is actually doing something.  Has been for a long time.

“Bad ass?” Sif asks.  Glaring at Eleanor, she crosses her arms over her chest.  “Is this a bizarre Midgardian insult?”

“No, it’s a compliment.  It’s good.”

“Bad means good?”

Eleanor laughs.  “It means tough.  Strong.  Awesome.”

“You find me awesome?”

“Um, _yeah_.”

Sif’s reply is cut off by Thor’s booming laugh, but she smiles slightly and Eleanor feels like they have made some progress.  The boys approach and Eleanor is struck with that familiar jolt of attraction when she meets Loki’s gaze.  She forgets that he’s been using sex as a distraction from his boredom and frustration for the last few weeks and she just _wants_.  

It’s a little bit like all her organs have detached.  They float around, anticipating his touch. Butterflies, she thinks they’re called.

There is a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead.  Thor speaks to him and he smiles slightly in response, but his eyes never leave Eleanor.

“Ladies,” Thor says as they stop in front of the bench.  Sif leaps to her feet but Eleanor stays seated with the banjo in her lap.  It is difficult to move her legs when Loki is looking at her that way, with such intense lust and promise.  “You are a pleasant sight after such vigorous activities.  How fare you on this day, Sif?”

“Very well.  Princess Eleanor was just explaining an odd Midgardian colloquialism.”

With half an ear, Eleanor listens to Sif telling Thor that bad can be good.  Loki smirks down at her, mouthing “princess.”  Eleanor scowls, hating her fake new title more than seems rational.  Sif will have to cut that shit out if they have any chance of being friends.

“Were you impressed with your husband’s skill, Eleanor?” Thor asks.

“Usually,” Eleanor replies, thinking of Loki’s tongue.  With great reluctance she looks at Thor as she speaks.  “What skill are we talking about here?”

Loki chuckles and Eleanor grins.

“Why, his skill in hand to hand combat, of course,” Thor says, blinking in confusion.

“I don’t know,” Eleanor replies with a shrug.  “I couldn’t really watch.”

The admission is embarrassing but when she glances at Loki he is smiling softly.  He understands.

“Why not, Sister?”

“It makes me nervous.  Someone could get hurt.”

Sif and Thor laugh. 

“And we are to start with your combat training on the morrow,” says Sif.  “Tell me, Princess, will you be able to assault even the practice dummy?  Or will this offend your Midgardian sensibilities also?”

Sif’s gentle teasing makes Eleanor smile. “I might not be much of a fighter, turns out,” she says.  “Guess we’ll see tomorrow.”

“Fortunately for you, your husband is quite skilled, even after years with no practice,” Thor says.

Loki frowns.

“He did a lot of jogging on Midgard,” Eleanor says.

“Jogging?” Sif asks.  “What is this jogging?”

“Running,” Eleanor replies, smiling slightly.  “To stay active.  To get in shape.”

“Where do you run?” asks Sif.

“Nowhere in particular,” Eleanor replies.

“But why—“

“Enough!”  Loki snaps as Thor and Sif attempt to ask more questions.  The God of Sex is reaching for Eleanor and she recognizes the look on his face, all predatory and licentious.

“The banjo!” she squeaks, anticipating his next move.  “Watch the banjo.”

In a series of smooth, practiced movements, Loki confiscates her instrument and lifts her easily from her seat on the bench.  As he tosses her over his shoulder she squeaks and giggles.  “You brute!”

“My prince,” Loki says, bowing deeply to Thor.  Eleanor is along for the ride and the shift in position makes her giggle again.  “Sif.  You must excuse us.  We have a most pressing engagement.”

“Yeah, we do,” Eleanor says, speaking to his lower back.  She slaps his ass, clothed in soft leather pants, and Loki holds her a little tighter.  Loki gives the gaping warrior and prince a final salute using the banjo before turning on his heel and marching towards the stairs.

“Bye, guys!” Eleanor waves, grinning wildly.  “This is most definitely in violation of some Princess Lesson.”

Loki laughs and Eleanor could live off the sound of it.

 

* * *

 

“Do you require assistance?” Sif says, looming over Eleanor in all her naked warrior glory. 

The bath houses attached to the training grounds are pretty fucking bomb and Eleanor had no problem disposing of all those layers of leather and metal foisted upon her when she showed up this morning, but now that her battered body has been languishing in the heated water, Eleanor really does doubt her ability to get out on her own.

“Five more minutes?” Eleanor begs.  “Please, Sif.  This feels so divine.”

“It is customary to spend no more than twenty minutes in the pools,” Sif says, crossing her arms over her naked chest.  “You have soaked for near an hour.”

“Please?”

“No.  I have far more pressing matters to deal with than the whims of the half mortal wife of the Dark Prince.  Arise now, Princess, or I will be forced to remove you myself.”

Eleanor rolls her eyes.  “Don’t fucking call me Princess, Xena.”

“I will not stay in this bathhouse another moment.  I care not if you drown.”

“Dude, I can swim,” Eleanor says, paddling over to the stairs in demonstration.  She gets her feet on the bottom step but the climb seems impossible.

“Do you require assistance?” Sif snaps again.

Gritting her teeth, Eleanor somehow manages to stand.  Her muscles scream in protest and she stands still on the bottom step for a full thirty seconds before she can summon the energy to take the step. 

Asgardians take their combat training very seriously and Sif does not adequately understand the meaning of the word _beginner_.

Somehow Eleanor braves all four steps without passing out from the pain.  It’s a great success. 

Sif makes a disgusted sound and tosses Eleanor a fluffy robe.  It catches her in the face because Eleanor couldn’t lift her arms quick enough to grab it with her hands.  The thing dwarfs her and for this Eleanor’s glad.  It means that she can fully wrap it around her whole body without having to lift her arms through the sleeves.

“You are truly so sore?” Sif asks, skeptical.

“I’m fine,” Eleanor says, waddling towards the changing rooms. 

“If the training was too difficult, you could have said.”

Eleanor thought about complaining a lot over these last few hours, but pride kept her silent.

“I’m just out of practice with, you know, wielding heavy weaponry,” she says, gritting her teeth again.

“Practice?  You claimed no experience with this sort of combat training,” Sif replies, glaring.

“You are very literal, aren’t you, Sif?”

The warrior says nothing as she pulls on another armored outfit that is much shinier than the one she donned for training Eleanor.

Three hours of running around on red clay with a fucking wooden sword and a goddamn shield has made Eleanor feel like she has the body of a very old person.  Everything aches, even the places between her fingers.  Fisting her hands hurt after lugging the weaponry, and if Eleanor can’t lift her guitar by tomorrow she’s going to be pissed.

Sif leaves quickly, apparently satisfied that Eleanor will not be stupid enough to get herself killed in the changing room.  The lady warrior might have been overly optimistic with Eleanor’s current state. 

It takes her an embarrassingly long time to get her dress over her head.  Making her way back to Loki is an equally arduous affair and Eleanor feels bad for the skinny, stern faced guard that accompanies her because it takes so long.

When she pushes through the door to her new home Eleanor does not even look around for her fake husband, heading straight for the nearest lounge and lowering herself as gently as possible.  She ends up face down in the cushions.

“Eleanor?”

She groans something in response.

“Eleanor!”  Loki is panicking and crouched at her side, hands fluttering around as he searches for injury.  “Are you hurt?  What happened?”

“You Asgardians take your training far too seriously,” she mutters, turning her head to look at him.  “I’m sore everywhere.”

Loki smirks.  “Everywhere?”

“My ears might be okay.  I can’t tell.  I’m one giant bruise.”

“What did Sif have you doing?” Loki demands, taking her hand.  After the heat of the baths, the chill of his skin is refreshing.

“First there was stretching.  And then there were pull-ups and lunges and all that horrible stuff Sif called a warm up.  Then there was a really heavy shield and wooden sword that Sif said were actually made for children.  Then there was whacking away at a practice dummy and Sif yelling at me.”

“This all sounds rather standard,” Loki says, frowning.  “But this level of pain is unacceptable.”

“Someone needs to clue in Sif on the meanings of beginner and half mortal.  Fuck, I’m supposed to be meeting a shit ton of Frigga’s fancy noble friends for lunch,” Eleanor says, groaning into the cushions.

“Are you even capable of sitting up?”

It takes a moment, but Eleanor sits up.

“Ta da,” she says, flashing him a weak smile.  She’s met with enraged Loki, the expression on his face so dark that Eleanor actually flinches away.  His beautiful features are twisted with rage and it reminds Eleanor of before, of the bunker.  “What?  Honey, you’re freaking me out.  What is it?”

“Your eye,” he growls out.

“Oh,” Eleanor says, absently touching the dark bruise beneath her left eye.  The soreness in the rest of her body distracted her from the black eye, but she winces as she touches it.  It is definitely bigger and much more tender than the last time she checked it out.  “Yeah.  Ouch.”

“I will end her for this.  She will burn.”  The quiet, resolved voice has always been more intimating than yelling when it comes from Loki, and now is no exception.  “If it is the last thing I accomplish, I will take her life in the most barbarous way imaginable.”

“Whoa,” Eleanor says, latching onto his shoulders to keep him kneeling at her feet.  “Who are you going to kill?”

“Sif will die.”

Eleanor stares at him in confusion for a moment before she gets it.  “Oh! No, sweetheart.  Sif didn’t do this to me.  I smacked myself in the face with my own shield pretty much the moment we started training.  It’s not Sif’s fault.”

Loki relaxes fractionally.

“And this supremely over-protective thing you do is nice sometimes, but you’ve got to tone down the homicidal rage, okay?”

“You hit yourself in the face with your own shield before training even began?” he asks, smirking now.

Eleanor nods, feeling totally ridiculous.  The whole point of this traumatic move to Asgard was to keep her safe and she wants to do well in this combat training, ensuring that she is capable of protecting herself.

It might not be the best of ideas.

“Give it time, my love,” he murmurs, touching her eye.  The sensation is soothing and Eleanor groans.  “It is my hope that you improve.  Feel better?”

Eleanor hums something and leans back against the couch.

“Sif should have taken you to a healer,” Loki grumbles.  “A healer would be quicker.”

“You are perfect.”

“That is an exaggeration.  But I will have you fixed up enough to make luncheon with my mother’s minions less painful.”

“Loki, babe,” she says with a laugh.  “Nothing is going to make that any less painful.”

“Do not call me babe.”

* * *

“Sorry I’m late,” Eleanor says, bursting onto the terrace where Frigga is already seated with a collection of perfectly posed noble women.   Even lounging around a table heavily laden with beautifully presented food, they seem big to Eleanor, taller and majestic.  They are the same women from the sewing room and after these last few weeks Eleanor should be comfortable around them, but she most certainly is not.

“It is no bother, my dear,” says the Queen.  “Come, you shall sit at my side.”

“I really am sorry,” Eleanor says, tucking her hair behind her ears. 

“My dear Princess,” says Zara, Frigga’s right hand buddy.  “Whatever did your husband do to you?”

“Huh?”  Eleanor says, feeling stupid, confused, and slovenly.  Most recently Loki took the edge off her soreness and made her eye look like it happened a week ago rather than a couple hours ago.

“Has he hit you?”

Eleanor shares a look with Frigga.  The queen appears equally offended by the inquiry, but she leans back in her seat, allowing Eleanor to deal with the unpleasant situation.

Her first instinct is to rage.  She’d like to scream at Zara and throw around some food for good measure before storming out, but that sort of angry behavior hardly seems appropriate for a princess.

“Loki?” she says instead with an inane giggle.  “Hit me?”  She laughs and beams.  She feels ridiculous, but the tension drains from the table.  “No, he would never.  This is all my doing, I’m afraid.”

“You really should not go around hitting yourself, darling,” says Frigga, chuckling and shaking her head.

“It was accidental, in fact,” Eleanor says, continuing to smile.  “I trained with Sif this morning and found the shield to be rather unwieldy.”

She then progresses to give a lively demonstration on the unwieldiness of shields that has all the ladies tittering in a matter of moments. 

The conversation shifts away from Eleanor and she relaxes.  Under the table Frigga squeezes her hand.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GO BRONCOS. That is all.


	10. Brushed Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1st beta: Heather  
> Final beta: Erica

In seven months on Asgard, Eleanor meets hundreds of new people – mostly nobility or royal advisers – and Loki helps her learn their names. 

Although it may be different among the common citizenry, most of the Aesir she encounters do not look at her like she is an abomination and those that do are typically old and wise enough not to mention anything, given Eleanor’s fake title and her ever-growing relationship with the queen.

They call her princess and she is learning to act like it.  Although she still cringes on the inside when the title gets attached to her name – which is often – and curses profusely when Sif uses it during their numerous and exhausting training sessions – which is also often.

To most, Eleanor is a curiosity.  They ask questions, most verging on extremely rude and offensive, and she spends a lot of time learning to disprove the commonly held and horribly false misconceptions of mortals in a way that is gentle and charming.

There is a lot of senseless tittering and hair flipping and fake smiles.  Only the queen seems to notice that Eleanor is full of shit.  She must be used to it, given she is the woman who raised Loki.

Frigga started small, introducing Eleanor to her closest friends.  Gradually, the gatherings got larger, escalating from small teas and luncheons to full-blown dinner parties.

After six months on Asgard, Eleanor charmed her way through her first formal state dinner with a delegation from Vanaheim.

Schmoozing is not a favorite activity of Eleanor’s but she understands why Frigga is so insistent on Eleanor making herself part of this society.  Besides all her talk of legacy and change, Eleanor’s visibility is more than that.

It is political protection. 

If Eleanor can pull off becoming the darling of Asgard’s elite then Odin will think twice about changing his mind about the tentative situation with Loki trapped in their rooms and Eleanor safe.  It’s a fear that lives in the back of her mind, and she’ll do whatever Frigga says if it will keep Loki out of the white cells and off of the Isle of Solitude.

Eleanor learns to be charming rather quickly. 

She spent eight lonely years flirting her way into what she wanted, mainly people’s pants and getting shows for whatever band she happened to be singing with at the time.  It doesn’t take long for her to temper her technique into a charisma more fitting for the situation.

It is all rather tedious, but she dutifully absorbs Frigga’s lessons and learns more than she ever wanted to know about the Asgardian elite.  She learns their secrets.

She doesn’t make friends (despite her best efforts with Sif).  She doesn’t let anyone here know her, but the upper echelons of Asgardian society genuinely seem to enjoy having her around.

It’s pretty fucking weird.

Still, her fake husband is the one subject she will not censor herself on.  She will patiently explain that no, mortals do indeed love their children, but the moment someone starts Loki bashing, Eleanor shuts it right down.

The most common inquiry is along the lines of “I don’t understand how someone so pleasant/good/wholesome/lovely could willingly marry that traitor/monster/warmonger/ purveyor of cheap tricks.”

“Lucky I’m the one married to him then,” Eleanor replies, her words sharp and biting. 

“Luck for him perhaps.”

“No, lucky for me.”

The Aesir learn very quickly not to bring up Loki.

Eleanor flourishes in her Princess Lessons while Loki reads his way through the library, trying and failing to find anything to connect London to the end of the universe.

Eleanor does not dream a single bad dream or fall into a single trance, but she frets over her fake husband. 

All things considered, he is fine.  Bored, frustrated, but fine.  Eleanor wonders how long he can sustain in such dull surroundings before he does something very dangerous and very stupid.

She does her best to keep him entertained with sex and when he wears her out she badgers him into giving her more magic lessons, something he secretly delights in.  Whenever the Crown Prince is without a task he can be found in the courtyard below their balcony, wrestling with his brother.

Loki and Eleanor reach a stalemate regarding the status of their relationship.  When they are alone she doesn’t let him get away with referring to her as his wife.  Loki actually groans and covers his ears when she tells him that she loves him.

He’ll break first.  Eleanor is sure of it.

 

* * *

“Loki!  Dude, where are you?”

Eleanor bursts into their main room through the entrance from the hall in an obvious state of extreme excitement.  Months in the Realm Eternal and although she certainly has adjusted to life here, even going so far to enjoy it at times, this extreme excitement is new.

But what she lacks in exuberant joy she also lacks in dreams, visions, or trances, so all and all Loki considers the move a success thus far.

She rounds the lounge in the main sitting area before Loki can remove himself from the floor where he is lying on his back, absently tossing and catching a sealed inkwell.

Eleanor blinks at him over the back of the couch and Loki flashes her a rueful grin.  He usually strives to hide the extent of his boredom from his wife, but since Frigga organized more instruction for her, his days are spent alone with little to occupy him but research that has thus far proved utterly fruitless.

“Hello, my dear,” he says, dropping the inkpot.  Fortunately it does not shatter.

“Whatcha doing down here, honey?” she asks, hopping over the furniture and lying down on the hard floor at his side.

“Before you so rudely interrupted, I caught that inkwell two thousand and twenty-six times sequentially,” he replies.  “I was nearing the record.”

“What is the record?”

“Two thousand, seven hundred, and nine.”

“Would you like me to leave you and the inkpot alone?”

“Yes, in fact I am considering leaving you for the inkpot.  You may now go.”

She gets up, following his instructions, but he snags her wrist before she can get too far, pulling her down onto his chest.

“Hi,” she says, kissing the corner of her mouth.

“Hello, my dear.”

“I’m sorry you are so bored.”

“I am not bored.  You are here.”

“Yeah, _now_.”

“It would be worse in the dungeons.  Now, was there something you wished to discuss with me?  You seemed quite excited upon your return to our rooms.”

“Oh!” she says, sitting up.  Loki frowns, pushing up to lean on his elbows.  “Look what I learned today.”

This is the first time Eleanor’s come back remotely enthused after one of Frigga’s lessons.  Loki is not sure he likes this.

“Ready?” she asks, placing two fingers on the side of her neck. Magic sizzles there, bright and yellow as a star.  “ _Luke, I am your father_.”

Loki blinks, as the voice coming out of his wife’s mouth is far from her own.

“I thought it not possible, but you’ve managed to ruin Darth Vader for me,” Loki says.  “And he was my favorite. Plus, that is not even the correct line.”

Eleanor rolls her eyes, removing her fingers from her neck.  “I finally managed to figure out this vocal manipulation stuff and you are giving me a lecture on _Star Wars_?  Really?”

“You learned this with my mother?” he asks.  It’s something they’ve been working on for weeks and jealousy burns in the pit of his stomach at the thought of another being responsible for Eleanor’s breakthrough.  “It was my mother that finally taught you to master this?”

“No.  Today’s Princess Lesson was socializing at a fucking tea party with the country nobility or some shit and that is my least favorite of all Princess Lessons, even though everyone loves me, or they are at least fascinated by me, but still it’s exhausting.” In her excitement, Eleanor is babbling inanely about nothing that has anything to do with magic.  Loki nods along as if she is making total sense.  “Anyway, I slipped out to practice for a while and finally did it.  Magic is so much easier here.  Seriously.”

Loki relaxes and returns her smile.  “Well done, my love.”

“ _This is my voice on helium_ ,” she says, high and squeaky and unpleasant.  The two fingers are back to her neck.  “ _Auto tune_ ,” she continues, her voice electronic and jarring with the addition of unnecessary syllables to her words.  “ _Aw ye-ah_.”

“Eleanor,” he replies, trying not to laugh.  It would only encourage her.

“ _This drink, I like it.  Another_!”  It’s his brother’s voice now and Loki is no longer amused.  He is too horrified to make it stop.  “ _Brother, have you seen meow meow? I seem to have misplaced it_.”

“Mjolnir,” Loki corrects.  “And this is disgusting.  I do not like anything resembling Thor coming out of your mouth.”

“ _Eleanor_ ,” she says, using Loki’s own voice now.  This is only fractionally less disturbing than hearing Thor when Eleanor speaks.  “ _Stop this immediately or I shall be forced to stop you myself.  Language!  I am bored and cranky so we should have sex all the time.  Asgard smells nice.  You are my wife although I never actually discussed it with you._ ”  She lets out a hysterical laugh that sounds like him but is not a noise he would ever actually produce. 

“Eleanor,” he says, smiling slightly but only because the laugh was absurd.

“ _Thor sucks_ ,” she says, still using Loki’s voice.  “ _I’ll slay you where you stand!”_

“I do not speak in such a manner.”

“ _I do not speak in such a manner_.”

“Eleanor.”

“ _Eleanor_.”

“Now I really must stop you,” he says.  Loki rears up, capturing her face between his hands, but when he attempts to pull her in for a kiss she resists, tugging his hands from her face.  “But I am bored and cranky so we should make love all the time,” he says, getting dangerously close to pouting.

“Hold that thought,” she says, shuffling away from him.  He sits up fully, crossing his arms over his chest to scowl at her properly.   “Just listen,” she says, lifting two fingers to her neck.

If she speaks at him with Odin’s voice next he will lock himself in their bedroom until she promises to win back his favor with favors of her own, preferably those sexual in nature.

But then Eleanor sings.

Three voices come out of Eleanor’s mouth, but they are all her own.  She harmonizes with herself in triplicate, closing her eyes to focus on the low, medium, and high registers.

The song is simple and haunting. 

Loki leans forward, watching her face as she masterfully crafts each phrase in her three-part harmony.  Her voice – or voices – shine light on even the darkest corners of him, overcoming all those long shadows that were much more threatening before he found her.

The words themselves hold little meaning, but it is the way she sings them with her whole self.  Her voice – or voices – rings bright and hopeful, with just an edge of melancholy.  It is a wonderful contradiction, much like Eleanor herself.  Such sadness juxtaposed with such light.

Eleanor sings in triplicate and despite everything – his imprisonment, his hatred for his false father and his true father and himself, his restless energy and constant fear for Eleanor’s safety – Loki will be fine.  He will endure and possibly even flourish, as long as Eleanor can sing for him.  As long as she wants to.

When she finishes, Eleanor looks to him to offer an opinion, but Loki is without words.  She is stunning and there may be something close to tears blurring his vision.

It is stunning, how Eleanor’s voice can change the mood of a moment from mischief to one so emotive.

“Pretty cool, right?” she murmurs, giving him a small, shy smile.

The phrase “pretty cool” is grossly inadequate so Loki kisses her with the reverence she deserves. 

For long moments he does not even touch her, save for the tender press of lips.  He kisses her on the floor of the rooms that were once a sanctuary from a world to which he never truly belonged, now a prison, and something raw builds in his chest.

Loki has no words to properly articulate all he feels for Eleanor Tate.

But she has a word, a childish, fanciful notion that absurdly seems too weak to apply to his feelings, but he can think of no other description that comes near as close.

“Loki?” Eleanor breaks the kiss with a gasp, her eyes searching his face and holding questions he does not have the words to answer. 

So he rises, sweeping Eleanor into his arms and kissing her once more as he makes his way to their bed.  He is determined to worship her this way, the way he knows best, and it requires no words at all.

He unwraps her, layer by layer.  Eleanor understands his reverent mood and his deep need to be utterly focused on her pleasure alone.  For once, Eleanor allows his painfully slow pace and does not tug insistently at his hair or grope him shamelessly until he is out of his head with needing her.

She simply strokes his face, his shoulders, his back as he makes certain there is no part of her that goes neglected.

He lingers between her legs, using tongue and fingers to draw out a wholly different sort of music from Eleanor.  He memorizes each pant and whimper and scream, joining in the symphony with a groan of his own as she arches off the mattress, anchoring herself with hands fisted in his hair.

He crawls up her body, watching the effect of her rapid breathing on her breasts, pausing to trace dark pink nipples with his thumbs.  Eleanor shivers and her hands find his face, but her touch is not demanding.  She smirks at him, wiping the gleaming remains of her own pleasure from his bottom lip. 

Kissing her is as heady as it always proves to be, but it is different also because Loki hovers on the verge of accepting Eleanor’s infantile word to describe all he feels for this woman.

When he finally slides into her, it feels sacred.  There is no need to demand she open her eyes for she already is looking at him.  She truly sees him, yet here she is mewling and desperate beneath him, touching his face and looking at him as if his eyes hold all the secrets of the universe.

Eleanor is delirious with wanting and he is also. 

Her eyes fluttered closed and Loki freezes, making Eleanor groan and hitch her thighs a bit higher on his hips.  He lays a palm on her cheek and she opens her eyes. He needs her to truly see him, to validate his own existence by looking, to nurture that fragile thing inside him she herself created, and to assure him that he did not dream her up.

Her eyes open and smiles in a way identical to what he saw in a blue vision long ago. He moves once more, thrusting slowly, desperate to feel every piece of every cell of every part of her, desperate for it to continue on infinitely.

Each time he fills her completely, Eleanor’s breath hitches sharp, spurring him on.  He is both at peace and violently needy when they are together in such a way and Eleanor is absolutely all there is.

Her moans and sighs are more songs written for him only.

“Loki.” It is her first word spoken since she last said his name in the living room, and Loki groans in response, dropping down to his elbows and resting his forehead on hers.  Their faces are too close for him to see properly, but Eleanor’s eyes remain open and looking directly at him.

Eleanor is quivering, her nails digging into his back as Loki’s ever-quickening pace loses rhythm and becomes more frantic.

Eleanor shatters once more and he shatters also.

When he finally regains his breath and use of his limbs, Loki attempts to roll off her minuscule frame, but all four of her limbs tighten around him.

“Don’t.” Her voice is small and sleepy and vulnerable.

Loki stays, nuzzling into her neck while Eleanor strokes his hair, sighing in contentment.

“I cannot think of a word to better describe how I feel for you,” he muses.  “I suppose love will have to do, although it hardly seems like enough.”

What an irritating, limiting thing language is in this moment.

Eleanor pushes at his shoulders and he goes willingly, halfway between sitting and lying at her side.  She is smiling, unconcerned with her nudity.

“You love me,” she declares, as if it’s been obvious for a great deal of time.

“Well, yes.  I suppose there is no other way to describe it.”

For a moment she is beaming and radiant, but then she frowns.

“What else, Loki?” she asks and he knows exactly what she wants from him.

“I believe that you believe that you love me.” 

Eleanor crosses her arms over her chest and shakes her head, clearly unimpressed with his word-smithing.

Loki sighs heavily for this part is much more difficult than finding a word that doesn’t do more than an adequate job describing his feelings for Eleanor.

“I believe that you love me also,” he murmurs.  Even as he says the words he is unsure of their truth.  Eleanor’s always been so constant in her own feelings, but it is unfathomable that one such as her could tolerate – let alone love – once such as him.

“It’s not a lie, Loki.”

He huffs, now irritated by her ability to see him so.

“It’s not!” she insists.

“You love me.”  The words feel strange on his tongue, but not unpleasant.  He is unable to keep from smiling.  “You love me.”

Eleanor takes his words for the truth they may or may not be because she is beaming once more, radiating joy as tears spill down her cheeks. 

“You love me and I love you,” she says.  “Fuck, do I love you.”

“Language, Eleanor.”

“Let’s get married,” Eleanor says.  “I’ll be your wife for real.”  She kisses him soundly and then pushes him away, rolling out of bed and walking to the closet, her steps jaunty.

“Where are you going, Eleanor?” he asks.  The whine in his voice is highly unseemly.

“Get dressed.  We’re tying the knot.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

 

* * *

 

Getting married, to Eleanor anyway, is a very odd affair that involves a brushed gold ring, sitting outside despite the cold, and making a variety of promises from the meaningful to the absurd.

Winter is a brief but potent event on Asgard.  He once loved the season.  While the majority of Asgardians seal themselves away in their warm homes, shutting out the cold, Loki thrived in it, exploring in the peace and quiet and the snow. 

The season is no longer his favorite, not since the reasons for this preference became abundantly clear.

Of course it is during this bit of extreme cold that Eleanor decides their “wedding” must take place on the balcony.

“I know it’s cold,” she says.  “But the sun is peeking through the clouds.  I love the sun and you love the cold so let’s do this outside.  Plus, you need to get out of these rooms.”

Grumbling about her command being the very thing that holds him in these rooms, he moves to the wardrobe, pulling out sable gloves and a matching hat.  They dwarf Eleanor, but the effect is endearing and amusing.  His fur cloak proves too cumbersome for his diminutive wife, so he pulls it on over his own shoulders as Eleanor layers on her warmer Midgardian attire.  Before pulling on his gloves, Eleanor removes the ring he magically placed on her finger nearly a year ago and hands it to him without further explanation.  He glares at her, but silently takes the piece of jewelry.  She also pushes a leather book of blank parchment into his hand, along with a Midgardian pen before dragging him out into the cold.

“These are not Midgardian wedding traditions,” Loki says.

“We are pretty untraditional, babe.”

“Do not call me babe.”

They settle on the balcony, on a seat Loki magically rids of snow.  Eleanor sits sideways, facing him.

“Well?” he says.  “What now?”

“Now we promise each other things.”

“Such as?”

Eleanor scoots a bit closer and Loki shares his fur cloak.

“Okay,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ears.  “I promise to love you forever and I promise to always look at you, even when I’m super pissed at you.  How was that?”

“Adequate,” Loki replies, nodding. 

“Write it down,” she says, gesturing towards the book in his lap.

He writes it down.

“In turn I promise never to leave you, even on the off chance Odin declares me redeemed and doing so becomes a possibility,“ he says, thinking of the worst of their fights all those years ago when he pondered her demise.

Eleanor grins. “Good,” she says.  “Write it down.”

He writes it down.

They continue on for a bit, asking and giving each other vows of fidelity and devotion and forever, before entering into the realm of the ridiculous.  They make far too many promises involving sexual intercourse.  In the end Loki agrees to “go blue” from time to time in order to get Eleanor to spend one full night a week in the nude until morning.

It’s such a small thing, but she often manages to wiggle into an oversized garment at some point in the night, leaving Loki to dig around to find her skin before getting frustrated and stripping her at odd hours.  It annoys him to no end.

There is some discussion of magic in the bedroom.  It seems strange for a marriage agreement to Loki, but Eleanor has always strayed far from the usual.

She agrees to allow him to prolong her life without much discussion at all, indicating that she has indeed given this thought before.  Although he mostly believes her when she says she wants him forever, her easy agreement corroborates her claims.  Her life expectancy is a problem that he has a vast amount of time to fix but he already toys with several possibilities to build upon her Asgardian longevity.

“What about kids?” Eleanor asks, her nose wrinkling.  “Do you want kids?”

“I do not think it is biologically possible,” Loki mutters, suddenly very uncomfortable.  A vision from the Tesseract flashes in his mind, but he ignores it as he always has and always will do.

“We could…” Eleanor makes a face as if she is sucking on something sour.  “I can’t even say it.”

“Adopt.  The word you are looking for is _adopt_.”

“Can we table this one for like a hundred years?” Eleanor asks.

“Yes, please.  Let’s do.”

And so it goes until Loki runs out of things to say.

“I promise that there is nothing you could do to make me not love you,” Eleanor murmurs, serious once more.  Her cheeks are flushed from the cold and Loki feels quite warm, as if he is blooming.

But he withers because there are a great number of ways he could test this promise – he has already tried out a few of them, most memorably his attempts to break their bond – but Eleanor would love him still, even if it ruined her, even if it twisted the brightness from her. 

“Are you sure, Eleanor?” he forces himself to ask, dreading the answer.

“Yeah.  I’m with you.  For better or worse.”

“Eleanor—“

“I trust you, Loki.  Write it down.”

He writes it down.

“And to you, Eleanor, I will endeavor to give you no reason to question this foolishly given trust.  Loving me will not make you hate yourself.  I promise to make being with me as free of pain as possible.”

Loki lets go of a few long sought ambitions, matters he covets still but would require bloodshed and pain to achieve.

“So, what?” Eleanor asks.  “No more plots for world domination?”

“No plots for world domination.”

“No senseless killing?”

“No senseless killing.”

“No ruling?

He pauses for above all other things he has desired to be king for as long as he can recall knowing what it meant.  But now there is Eleanor.

“I will not pursue the crown.”

Eleanor’s smile is beautiful.  “Only I kneel for you.”

“Damn,” he says.  “How shall I ever survive?”

Eleanor giggles and kisses the corner of his mouth.  He closes his eyes, determined to hold this moment.

But then he desires a more physically gratifying moment.

“Is that all?” he asks.  “Are we married?  May I now call you wife without you rolling your eyes?”

Eleanor rolls her eyes.

“Almost,” she says.  “One more thing.”

“All right.  Go on then.”

“I promise to be your family.”  Eleanor gets a bit choked up and Loki’s chest gets tight.  “No secrets.  No lies.  Just you and me, our own real little family.”

He kisses her then, making the promise on his part.  He can write it down later.  Suddenly he is ecstatic that Eleanor insisted on making such vows.  They have never been particularly good at expressions of feeling, and Loki finally understands the importance of doing so. 

Even so, he is quite ready to reach the promised honeymoon period, as Eleanor calls it.

“Wait,” Eleanor says as Loki moves to bring her to their bed.  The sun is now gone and the snow has returned.  Eleanor catches a flake on her tongue. 

“Eleanor,” he says, huffing with frustration.

She removes the oversized glove from her left hand, extending it to him.  It takes him a moment but then he understands her intent.

“I do,” she says as he places her ring back on her finger.

“You do what?”

“I do agree to have you and hold you and cherish you, in sickness and health, as long as we both shall live,” she says as if it should be obvious.

“Lovely,” he drawls.  “May we go inside now?”

“Give me your hand.  The left one.”

He does.

“So do you?” she asks.

“Do I agree to have you and hold you and all that dribble?” he asks, nearing the end of his patience.  They must be to the pointless Midgardian section of the program, but Loki attempts to humor his wife.

And it is a rather momentous and shocking thing, that Eleanor has agreed to such a title.

“Yes, Loki,” she replies, sighing. 

“Obviously, I accept these conditions.”

“You have to say ‘I do.’”

“Do I? Why?”

“Loki!”

“Fine.  Yes.  I do.  Whatever.”

His words make Eleanor a smiling, crying, happy mess.

“Great!” she says.  A brushed gold ring is on his finger.  He wonders where she procured such a thing.  The thin band is engraved with the same ceremonial markings as his armor. 

This exchanging of rings seems an odd tradition, but not wholly terrible.  He casts magic upon the small piece of jewelry, charming it to burn hot should Eleanor ever find herself in mortal danger.

“I now pronounce us husband and wife,” Eleanor says, pulling him closer with the collar of his cloak.  “You better fucking kiss me.”

And he does.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was fluffy. Hope you liked it!  
> Thanks for reading!


	11. Love of the People

Eleanor is late.

Today his wife and his mother are scheduled to take lunch here in Loki’s prison, but the time for their arrival passed ten minutes ago and he is alone still.

He paces, eyes fixed on the door.  The meal awaits them in the library and Loki is anxious.  His days are so damned boring and he needs this interruption to the tedium to prevent himself from going mad once more.

He fingers his wedding band.  It is connected to Eleanor and designed to burn hot if she finds herself in mortal peril.

The ring is cool.  Eleanor is fine.

Loki takes three breaths, finding a tenuous calm.  He closes his eyes and searches within himself for the bond that has connected him to his wife for well over five Midgardian years. 

Odin originally carved out this magic, but Loki and Eleanor reclaimed it. 

Since he finally admitted to loving her, Loki has found himself able to access the bond.  In times of calm and focus he can mentally reach out and touch the link, assuring himself that Eleanor is safe and his, even when she is away.

Her commands still hold and they can have no more than a few miles between them, but only Eleanor and Loki exist in the connection now.  There are no longer any traces of Odin to be found in the magic he himself created. 

Loki surmises that he was expelled near the time Eleanor decided to make their marriage a real one.  Loki is reasonably certain that the Allfather can no longer use the bond to access Loki’s so-called rehabilitation and this, of course, is a welcome, delightful change.

Now, Loki closes his eyes and finds the bond, finds Eleanor alive and well.  While it once felt like an oppressive chain, shoved in his gut without his consent, the bond is now a treasured link that gently warms his chest when he is calm enough to mentally reach out and touch it.

He revels in the warmth until the door opens. 

Eleanor seeks him out immediately, kissing the corner of his mouth.  The touch is far too brief given that he’s been alone for the entirety of the morning, and then she is slipping away to their bedroom without explanation.

“Sorry, so sorry,” says his mother, kissing his cheek before settling at the table.  “Philda of the Plains is in the capitol with her three dreadful daughters.  Such a verbose creature.  Eleanor has the patience of a saint as we were forced to endure the familiar lecture on why each daughter would make an ideal future queen.”

Loki snorts and takes the seat opposite the current queen. 

Long may it stay that way.

“If any of that trio were to wed Thor, Asgard would be doomed,” says Loki. “Between the King and Queen there would only be the level of intelligence nearing that of a bilgesnipe.”

“Loki, you know your brother is smart in his own right, even if you are the more intelligent sibling.  Very few can compete with you in that regard, dear, myself included.”

Loki grins.  “Even so.  Odin married someone far smarter than himself.  As should Thor,” he says, shrugging.

Frigga smiles and pours three goblets of wine.  “One such as Jane Foster?”

“Thor’s loss of Jane Foster just proves how stupid he truly is.”

“Really, there is no need for that.”

The subject of the oaf’s intelligence drops as Eleanor arrives at the table, leaning over Loki to fill her plate with small sandwiches and various fruits.  The sandwiches are one of countless Midgardian dishes now prepared in the kitchen at Eleanor’s request. 

“What _are_ you wearing?” Loki asks, taking in Eleanor’s Midgardian tights and tank top.  It is rare to see her in such attire these days.

“These are my dancing clothes,” Eleanor says around a mouthful of melon.

“Dancing?”

“Princess Lesson the Eight Hundredth.”

“Eleanor, we stopped keeping track long ago.  As you well know,” says Frigga.

“Dancing?” Loki asks again.

Eleanor spins around on one foot and then shakes her hips a bit.  Training with Sif has done wonders for her coordination.  “Dancing.”

“Oh, really?” Loki says, glaring at his mother as Eleanor takes the seat to his right.  “And just who will be your partner be for said lesson?”

“You will be, Loki,” says Frigga, smothering his rising jealousy.  “Although in a fortnight Empress Oza of Vanaheim will arrive to discuss the rebels who have raided at will since the Bifrost was destroyed.”

Loki shifts in his seat.  Eleanor’s hand finds his knee under the table.

“There will be a banquet, of course, in her honor, complete with traditional dance.  As a Princess of Asgard, Eleanor will be expected to participate.”

“Lovely,” says Loki.

“You are such a talented dancer, Loki,” Frigga says.  “Who better to teach Eleanor?  You are so graceful.”

“He really is.  I call this once dance of his the snake hips,” Eleanor says, waggling her eyebrows.

Loki’s cheeks burn slightly.  “There will be no snake hips.  This is not dancing as you know it, Eleanor.”

“Such things might seem trivial, but a good deal of political relationship building takes place when partaking in such customs,” Frigga says.

“Do you foresee Eleanor engaged in an excess of diplomacy with Vanaheim?” Loki asks.

“One never knows, my son.  Now eat your wiches of sand.”

* * *

 

“Step together.  Come apart.  Touch hands and turn.”  Frigga’s instruction follows the music that plays, but Eleanor is rapidly losing focus.  In the last few hours she adequately learned traditional dances that the entirety of the royal family will be expected to take part in, but this final number is getting the best of her.

Dancing to music is second only to creating music for his songbird, and now she finds these rigid steps to be dull and constraining.  For the last few minutes Eleanor’s taken to pinching Loki’s rear whenever it is within her reach, much to her own amusement, Loki’s embarrassment, and the Queen’s annoyance.

“Really, Eleanor!” says Frigga when Eleanor cannot stop giggling after a nearly unsuccessful grope.  “Outside these walls you are an excellent student, excelling in even your training with Sif!  What has gotten into you?”

“In defense of my wife, I do have a very distracting backside, Mother.”

Eleanor doubles over with laughter as Frigga looks to the stars and sighs.  Her expression of resigned exasperation is familiar, always the result of Loki’s mischief in his youth.

“These really are dances I should have taught you months ago, Eleanor.  Knowing how to act in such formal situations is critical to your duties as a princess.”  Frigga is cross, but she scolds Eleanor as she scolds Thor and Loki.  Frigga sees Eleanor as her own child.

The relationship between these two most important of women is endlessly pleasing to Loki.

“Okay,” says his wife, straightening up.  She stretches her arms above her head.  “I’m sorry.  This is just so boring.  It’s like a scene from _Pride and Prejudice_ or something.”

“Pride and Prejudice?” Frigga asks.

“A Midgardian tale featuring now outdated courtship customs,” Loki explains.

“It matters not.  Tell me, Eleanor, how would you dance to such a selection on Midgard?” Frigga asks.

Without speaking, Eleanor wraps herself around Loki, taking his hand in hers.  He pulls her close with a hand at the small of her back and she squeezes his shoulder.  They sway in place for a moment before he leads her around the room, sweeping her towards the balcony and back.

It’s been years since they danced like this, not since a long ago Christmas party hosted by Tony Stark.  He surprised her with this skill then, one acquired from watching Midgardian films. 

Dancing delighted Eleanor then as it delights her now and she laughs as he dips her low before snapping her back up to his chest.  He spins her around and runs a hand down her side.  As the song finishes they go back to swaying with no space between them.  The music fades and Eleanor stands on her toes to kiss the corner of his mouth.

“See!” says Eleanor, turning towards Frigga. Loki drops his hands.  “Isn’t that way more interesting?”

“It was certainly more intimate,” Frigga says, collapsing into a chair.  “This is common dancing on Midgard?”

“Well, no,” Eleanor confesses.  “This is actually pretty old school.  A lot of the dancing these days would probably make you faint.”

Frigga laughs.  “Perhaps in the future Asgard will be accepting of such old school Midgardian dancing, but it will not happen in a fortnight.”

“I know.  I’ll try and focus,” says Eleanor, sighing heavily.

“You will learn.  But not today.  How would you like to spend the remainder of your afternoon free of your lessons?” Frigga asks.

“She would like it very much,” says Loki before Eleanor can answer.  He’d forgotten that Midgardian dancing often serves as foreplay.

Both women laugh and Loki blushes yet again.

It is totally unacceptable.

* * *

 

It starts with golden nail polish.

Eleanor notices during the morning sewing.  She hates the sewing lessons most of all, but Frigga assures her it is more about listening to the gossip of the ladies than actually sewing.  Frigga says information is power, so Eleanor listens and learns the subtle politics of these women.

Still, Frigga insists that Eleanor learns to sew too. 

She finds herself in the sunny sewing room for three hours every three days.  After ten months on the Realm Eternal, Eleanor is finally getting used to the routine.

This is the first time Eleanor has ever seen her fellow seamstresses with painted nails.  Golden polish seems to have infected the majority of the noble ladies and Eleanor shifts a bit closer to the queen.

“Hey, what’s up with the nail polish?” Eleanor whispers in Frigga’s ear. 

Her mother-in-law smiles. “You are quite the trend instigator, my dear.”

It takes Eleanor a moment to remember, but last week she did indeed paint her nails gold.

She botches a simple pair of socks and thinks back to the bunker when she painted each fingernail a different shade.  Loki, never seeing such a thing before, thought the colors were permanent. 

The Aesir don’t paint their nails, or at least they didn’t before Eleanor introduced the idea.  It’s a small thing, cosmetic and vain and without depth.  But still, Asgard adopted a practice from Midgard at the very highest level of society.

There is something important in that, especially after their relatively quick acceptance of a half mortal abomination as their princess.

For the first time Eleanor believes Frigga.  Maybe real change is possible.

* * *

 

“These will be the last of our training sessions for quite sometime,” Sif says.  They sit on a low wall, drinking water and watching the other warriors spar.

“Yeah?” Eleanor never thought she would be so disappointed but after the first painful months her body changed into something lean and hard and strong.  She finds that she thoroughly enjoys her new strength and can actually handle a blade without poking her own eye out.  Still she isn’t much of a fighter.  Most of the strength she’s gained would really only help her run away with speed and agility.

“We are to venture to Vanaheim.  Marauding bands of fiends continue to pillage the countryside, despite our best efforts.  It seems they hide in the mountains and the best are now required to dispense with them.”

“Ah.  And you are definitely the best.  Are the other Three going too?  And Thor?”

“Indeed, Eleanor.”

“Shit, that means I’ll get stuck sparring with Loki.  And it only lasts about five minutes tops.”

“Why?”

“We get distracted.”

“How?”

“By sex, Sif.  Sex is very distracting.”

The warrior’s disgusted facial expression is rather entertaining.

“Not that I have any desire to go with you to Vanaheim to battle fiends, but it would be nice if I could, you know?  Not that I will ever be there, fighting-wise,” Eleanor says as Fandral knocks Volstagg to his back and Volstagg retaliates by kicking the other warrior’s legs out from under him.

“You will in all likelihood never be there fighting-wise,” Sif agrees.  “Although after those first arduous weeks, I am shocked by the progress you have made.”

“Aw, thanks, Sif.  That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Sif rolls her eyes.  It is a gesture that she picked up from Eleanor.

“You are a passable swordsman,” Sif continues.

“Swordsperson,” Eleanor corrects.

“Or at the very least you can keep from knocking yourself in the face with your own shield,” Sif continues.  “And you are quick and agile with superb balance.  But you are also small and weak.  If any got close enough, you would be done for.  I know you have little interest in offensive measures, but your ability to defend is still lacking due to your small stature and your pathetic mortal genetics.”

Sif looks pretty disturbed by the thought of Eleanor in a situation that requires she use all this training.  Eleanor hopes it’s because they are actually friends.

“So what do you suggest?  This might be as good as it gets for me,” Eleanor says.

“Rather than focus on weaknesses that you cannot change, in the future I suggest we strive to further hone your strengths.  Also, what are your strengths?”

Eleanor laughs.  “Well, music.  Singing.  But that hardly seems applicable here.”

“Are you quite certain?”

Eleanor thinks for a moment before lifting two fingers to her throat and letting out an ear-piercing shriek.  The pitch is high and Eleanor herself winces, but the reactions of all the training warriors is much more violent.

Sif falls off the wall, crumbling to her knees as she covers her ears.  Others in the training yard do the same, turning to gape at Eleanor as they cry out in dismay.

She stops after only a few seconds.

“Sorry!” she yells as the warriors recover.

Sif manages to get to her feet.

“Like that?” Eleanor asks.

“Yes,” says Sif, grinning.  “It will in all likelihood not be near as effective when your enemy expects it, but that will certainly do.”

Eleanor laughs and slides off the wall.  She gives Sif the most uncomfortable hug in the history of the Twenty-Seven Realms.

“Good luck with the fiends, Sif.  Stay safe.”

“I… yes.  Thank you, Princess.”

“Dude!”

Sif sighs.  “Yes, Eleanor?” she corrects.

“Do you want to go for a walk?  I’ve got letters for Heimdall to deliver.”

Sif nods and they exit the training yard, Ido trailing like an ever-faithful shadow.  When they reach the rainbow bridge, Eleanor takes off her shoes.  The pulsing, colorful surface causes a shiver to go up her spine.

“You always remove your boots when on the bridge,” Sif comments as they stroll towards the Bifrost pavilion.  “Why?”

“The energy tickles.  Can’t you feel it?”

“Not really.  Only a sort of hum if I am concentrating.”

“Huh.”  Eleanor shivers again, lifting her skirt to look at her feet.  “I definitely feel it.  Like, in my whole body.”

“I do not have magic as you do.”

Eleanor nods in understanding and they walk in silence. 

The day is bright, the weather struggling to reach summer temperatures.  Beneath her feet the crystal of the bridge is warm and Eleanor shrugs out of her cloak, enjoying the sun on her bare arms.

“Look at you,” Sif says, reaching out to squeeze a bicep.  “Not so scrawny now.  I take full credit.”

Eleanor grins and flexes her now defined arms.  “Yeah, I’ve had nothing to do with it.”

“I am no longer ashamed to be seen with you.”

Eleanor laughs as they enter the pavilion.

“Heimdall,” she greets.  “What’s shaking?”

“Princess.”  His lips twitch into a brief smile, pleasing Eleanor endlessly.  She sees the all-seeing – or almost all-seeing – god at least once a week and it seems like he is finally warming up to her.

“Dude, call me Eleanor.”  It is a frequent request.  The title still makes her cringe, even if it is at least true now that Loki is really her husband.

She still gets giddy whenever she thinks of this fact.

“You are wed to a Prince of Asgard, making you Princess.  I will not do you the dishonor of referring to you as anything different.  Now, how many letters do you bring me?”

“Four,” Eleanor replies, pulling the nearly folded parchment from a pocket.  “Darcy, Jane, Laura, and Maureen.”  It’s not often that she writes to her mother.  There isn’t all that much to say to her but the other three get a weekly correspondence.

Nothing new ever happens to Laura, although she does entertain Eleanor with humorous tales of her kids.  Darcy is working full time at Stark.  With the Bifrost project over, Jane is at the university, dissatisfied and bored and lonely. 

Eleanor misses them all terribly.

“How are they?” Eleanor asks as she hands over the stack.

“They are safe and well, Princess.”

“Thanks for doing this.”

“You are most welcome.”

He moves his staff, the pavilion shifts around them, and her letters disappear into the roaring brilliance of the Bifrost, making the great journey to Earth.

She watches the colors and wants to go home, but the urge is not nearly as strong as it was last month.

Or the month before that.

Or the month before that.

* * *

 

In the year since willingly returning to the prison that is Asgard, there have been few moments where Loki truly loathed his imprisonment. 

He experiences periods of great sorrow when he compares how his life and relationships are now with what they once were.  Thor often infuriates him, but the golden prince calls Loki Brother once more and their sparring sessions prove cathartic.  He spends time with his mother daily and on occasion this too brings him pain as he disappointed and hurt her in the past, but she is also proud of the life he’s scraped together with his wife.  There is very little any can do about his persistent boredom, but all things considered, it could be much worse.

It is Eleanor that keeps his bitterness and hatred at bay. 

At times he loathes all those who garner even the smallest portion of her attention, but she always returns, delighted and relieved to be with him again. Most days he believes her when she professes her love and on the increasingly rare occasion when he cannot believe his good fortune, she is there to soothe his woe.

After all he’s done, the idea is simply unfathomable.

Eleanor is safe and has not dreamed or sleepwalked since their arrival here.  Thor calls him Brother.  Mother is proud.  All this is typically enough to keep Loki content, even when the boredom threatens to smother him, even if he is at the mercy of the Allfather once more. 

Typically, it is enough to keep him from thinking of Odin at all, but now Eleanor is locked away with a maid, preparing to sing for the nobility and common people alike.  Loki will miss it and his hate for Odin scorches his skin.  No amount of reading or writing will distract him from his anger on this night.

He paces the length of their bedroom, glancing at the closed bathroom door with great frequency.  His wife will emerge at any moment and he fears what he’ll see when she does.

Surely she will be too beautiful, too perfect, dressed up in finery for all to see, Loki being the one exception.  He hates the Aesir as he hates the Allfather.  Eleanor has done a marvelous job overcoming his shattered reputation and her own heritage, but they once called her abomination – many still do – and they do not deserve to hear or see her in all her splendor.

They do not even deserve to exist in the same universe as Eleanor, as far as Loki is concerned. 

The bathroom door opens and Loki freezes as Eleanor steps into the bedroom.  She is a vision, as brilliant as anything he’s ever seen in his lifetime.  She’s cloaked in the night sky, black fabric sparkling with gems that form thousands of stars.

“Get out,” he snaps at the maid.

“Thanks, Neela,” Eleanor says as the girl scurries away.

The billowing layers of the skirt somehow make Eleanor appear taller, and the neckline plummets far too low for Loki’s liking, but he can’t deny the effect is regal, powerful, and as mysterious as the depths of space itself. 

The garment is belted with golden engraved metal work that matches Loki’s own armor.  They are not symbols Eleanor could understand, but all who see her will take this for the statement it is.

There will be no way to look at Eleanor and not think of Loki.

Eleanor takes a step and the swirling fabric of her skirts shimmers green and gold.  Fascinated by this change, Loki closes the distance between them, running his fingers over the glittering, sheer fabric that covers her arms all the way to her wrists.  He smiles as it too turns from black to green and back again under his touch.

“Loki?” Eleanor asks.

He takes her hand and spins her around, delighting in her giggle and the shining green and gold of her dress.

From behind, the outfit is incomplete.  It appears to be missing it’s back entirely and Loki frowns.  Despite his displeasure he allows his fingers to follow the bare length of her spine, only reaching fabric at the soft swell of her rear.

“I know,” says his wife, turning to face him  “I look hot.  Super hot.”

When he opens his mouth to agree no words emerge, so he simply nods instead, reaching out to touch along the delicate golden tiara that spans her forehead.  It is nothing like the opulent, heavy crown of a queen he saw her wear in the Tesseract, but this seems to suit her much better.  The metal is braided and decorated with emerald and diamonds, a larger version of the ring that never strays from her left hand.

“Frigga gave it to me,” Eleanor says.  “It’s my ring, but bigger.”

Loki smiles and nods once more, cradling her face in his hands as he continues his inspection.

Her messy locks are smoothed out and curled back in a style that is distinctly Asgardian and distinctly not Eleanor.  It is strangely comforting.  The Aesir will get a version of Eleanor polished up, but her true self is for Loki only.

“Are you going to say anything?” she asks, huffing out her annoyance.

Loki shakes his head and kisses her.

He can feel the smile against his lips.

A distant knock reminds him of anger forgotten and Eleanor steps away. Begrudgingly, he follows her into the main room of their quarters.  The queen enters, looking elegant and royal as ever.  All the formal attire leaves Loki feeling small and rumpled in his extremely casual tunic.  He forgot to brush his hair on this day.

Although he has no desire to socialize, events such as these always served to satisfy his vanity. 

As Frigga gushes over Eleanor, Loki rubs his left hand and hates Odin.

Once more he is the outcast, the alone, the left behind, the unwanted.

His mother embraces him and he manages the expected compliments on her beauty but he’s too consumed with anger and self-pity to mean it.

“Now, remember,” says his mother.  “You will open the Sumar Samnaðr with this performance.  As it is a celebration of summer, I hope your song selection is accordingly chipper.”

Eleanor nods and only rolls her eyes slightly.

The celebration of summer is a favorite of the common folk as it is a three-day fair complete with vendors, melees, and provisions without charge.  Typically the party of the first night is started with various dull speeches and the military band blaring away on their horns.

Eleanor will be a welcome change.

“But,” continues Frigga, “as it is also your introduction to the public, I hope you include bits of yourself as well.”

“I’ve crafted the perfect set list,” replies Eleanor.

“Set list?”

“The songs are all appropriate.  I mean, there is a lot of metaphor and figurative language.  I know Asgard isn’t big on that so no one is going to have any idea what I’m talking about, but there will be me playing like twenty instruments at once.  More, actually.  And I’ll light up my magic and everything, give them a real show.”

“Excellent!” says the Queen.  “We really must be getting down to the amphitheater.”

“Okay, give me one little second.”

Frigga nods and exits, murmurs a goodbye to Loki that he barely acknowledges. 

Eleanor wraps her arms around his waist and he considers trying to hide his current turmoil.

“Hey,” she murmurs.  It is apparent from her tone alone that she knows what he is feeling already.  “This would be a thousand times better if you were with me.”

His face remains impassive but her words do slightly uncoil the knot in his gut.  Eleanor wants him, as unbelievable as that may be.  She married him willingly and she would have him with her tonight if she could.

“I would attend if I were able,” he says, running his hands down her arms and marveling at the color change.

“I know.  I’ll miss you.”

He touches her delicate crown and smiles softly.

“You know the voice amplification magic you taught me?” she asks.

“Of course.”

“Do you think I can get my voice all the way up here from the amphitheater?  It’s all outdoors so that won’t be a problem.”

Despite her slow start, Eleanor’s magic has grown exponentially in their year on Asgard.  There is an unseen quality in the air here that encourages the flow of magic.  It is the same ancient force that convinced Loki that Eleanor would be safer here than on the magic-stifling realm of Midgard.

A year ago, the answer to her inquiry would have been a resounding no.

“Aim for the balcony,” he says instead.

“Kiss me for luck and send me on my way.”

He kisses her for luck and off she goes.

* * *

 

Eleanor’s voice makes it to the balcony.

He lays back on a lounge, enjoying the balmy evening and the impressive musical styling of his wife.

Her first selection is slow, just her and a guitar.  It is an introduction, slightly self-deprecating but endearing nonetheless.  She sings of being from nowhere, of dangling at the edge of the world, and he is glad for the Asgardians’ inability to understand lyrics thatsurely apply to him as much as they apply to her.

In the next songs Eleanor accompanies herself with a complete orchestra.  Music on Asgard consists mostly of great booming epics that detail glorious battles and adventure, and what Eleanor is currently playing will stun the Aesir.  It is unlike anything they’ve heard or seen. Midgardian-influenced music created through the magic of one minuscule half mortal.

They will see her power.

Above all else, her voice shines, beautiful and strong and without rival.

Frigga is a genius.  This performance will win Eleanor the love of the people. 

And there is great power in the love of the people.   

****

* * *

It is the Asgardian equivalent of playing the Super Bowl halftime show but Eleanor does not get nervous until her half hour set is over.  Before kicking off the Sumar Samnaðr, the largest crowd she sang for was a couple hundred mortals. 

The amphitheater is an architectural marvel to Eleanor’s eyes and seats at least 200,000, but she goes beyond this stage, projecting her voice to the city: up to Loki on their balcony and to the thousands lining the streets or those who wander the field next to the amphitheater stuffed with vendor tents.  People have come from all over Asgard to drink and eat and trade, all in celebration of summer.

This is her first time performing without a band to disappear into.  The whole burden falls to her and there will be no one to blame if she fucks it up. 

She accompanies herself with a full orchestra, singing with her whole self and adding colors and lights to her magic to make the whole thing seem that much more impressive. 

Asgardians do not have concerts that are for entertainment reasons only, like on Midgard.  Sold out stadium shows with lights and dancing so popular on Earth are nonexistent here, and Eleanor makes sure to give the Aesir a proper show. 

She starts slow, introducing herself with no gimmicks, just her voice and her guitar.  When she lifts her hands from the instrument and it plays on with her magic, the crowd gasps.  When she finishes the amphitheater is totally silent for a few horrible seconds before the crowd roars their approval.

Eleanor lets out a deep breath.  She raises her hands and a full orchestra of instruments hovers behind her, floating up from their stands to await her instruction.

“So we’re going to have some fun,” she informs her audience, borrowing from cliché concert moves on Midgard.  “Are you ready for some music?” she asks, her voice filling the huge amphitheater and going beyond, up to her husband. 

Her question is met with an unsure, quiet answer “yes?”

Eleanor chuckles and cups her hand around her ear.  It feels a bit ridiculous to ham it up in such a gorgeous, regal dress, but after a year lurking in the palace, Frigga wants the common folk to know her and Eleanor is determined to have fun with them. 

“I can’t hear you!” she says.

The Aesir catch on quickly and seem to delight in the novelty of audience participation if the volume of the responding cheers is any indication. 

Eleanor obliges them.

Singing for thousands makes Eleanor feel powerful and beautiful.  Playing so many instruments at once makes her feel like a witch in the best possible way, like a sorceress.

And it is wonderful.

After the final piece, Eleanor bows deeply – not something royals typically do, but what the hell – her instruments floating back down to rest on their stands.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, her soft words nearly drowned out by the thunderous applause.  She presses two fingers to her neck, her skin warming with the magic as she stops amplifying her voice.

When she takes her seat next to Frigga in the royal box to sit through the boring speech section of the program, Eleanor finds herself freaking out.

“Wonderful,” Frigga gushes, beaming as she takes Eleanor’s hand.  “Stunning.  Perfect.”

The adrenaline is draining from her as she struggles to get her head around the enormity of what she just did.  She can’t manage to still her shaking hands.  Her heart hammers in her chest because musically, that’s the biggest thing she’s ever done.

“They love you,” Frigga says, shouting over the continuing cheers.  Odin’s officials are having a hard time getting the crowd to quiet. 

Eleanor nods and swallows, gripping Frigga’s hand tighter.

“Are you quite all right, Eleanor?”

More than anything Eleanor wants Loki here to kiss her, to help her figure out if this is a good feeling or a bad one. 

This rush is astounding, overwhelming, and perfect.

“I’m great,” Eleanor says, her grin slowly expanding.

“That you are, my dear.  That you are.”

* * *

 

After the speeches, the Aesir have a party.  That seems to be the main point of this favorite holiday that celebrates summer.

Eleanor strolls through the endless rows of tents that will remain up for the three days of festivities that are to follow.Ido is her shadow and she decides to make more friends than Sif and the other warriors; ones who won’t rush off to glorious battle and leave her alone to explore.

The night is warm and Eleanor changed into a simple dress that leaves her arms bare.  Frigga insisted she keep the diadem on.  The people of Asgard smile and wave as she passes.  Some touch the backs of her hands – apparently this is a normal, reverent gesture – and they bow.

“Beautiful,” they say before moving on.

“Another, Princess!”

“Another!”

“Soon,” she replies.

* * *

 

“I am sorry you were barred from the celebration, Loki,” Frigga says, examining the fit of Loki’s new tunic.  It’s the result of a fuckton of hours Eleanor spent with the Queen and her friends in the sewing room.

“Yes, one does miss the occasional party while imprisoned,” Loki drawls, sticking out an arm for inspection.

Frigga hushes him.  Eleanor bites her cheek and prays that the fucking shirt is up to her mother-in-law’s standards.  If it passes inspection, Eleanor will be deemed an adequate seamstress and she will only be forced to spend one morning a week in the sewing room.

Many of the ladies are wearing their hair loose and wild, now.  Like Eleanor’s. 

“Although in all seriousness I do wish I was able to attend Eleanor’s performance.  I understand it was well received?” Loki asks as Frigga tugs on one of the sleeves.  It may be a quarter inch shorter than the other. 

“It was marvelous, Loki, unlike anything before heard on Asgard.  Your wife’s talents are rapidly challenging notions of mortal inferiority,” Frigga replies.

It’s a nice way of saying that the Asgardians no longer call her an abomination quite so often because she can sing real nice and play an orchestra’s worth of instruments while doing it.

“Do not be so cross, my son,” she says.  “Is it not a good thing that the court and the people alike are coming to accept your wife?  Her good reputation can do nothing but help your tattered one.”

Loki grunts.

“And our Eleanor can be very charming when she makes up her mind to try.”  Frigga flashes Eleanor a grin over her shoulder because they both know Eleanor is not often inclined to try without Frigga’s insistence.  “She is an asset, Loki.  Well, when it comes to her position as princess, perhaps.  Her sewing certainly leaves something to be desired.  Eleanor, what happened with this sleeve?  Is it not shorter than the other?”

Eleanor comes forward, tugging down the accursed sleeve.  Loki steals the tie from her hair, tucking stay strands behind one ear as it falls around her shoulders.

“Loki’s left arm is shorter than his right,” Eleanor says.  “So the sleeve is shorter too.”

“Is it?” asks Frigga, not buying it at all. 

Loki opens his mouth to defend the symmetry of his body, but Eleanor glares at him and he sighs once more.

“My right arm is notoriously and markedly shorter than my left,” he says, convincing absolutely no one with his monotone.

“He means the opposite,” Eleanor says.  "The left is shorter.”

“Whatever,” says her unhelpful husband.

Sometimes it still knocks the wind out of her.  He is her husband.

“The pair of you shall be the end of me,” declares Frigga.  “It is a passable effort, Eleanor.  You need no longer attend sewing lessons with such frequency.”

“Awesome,” she says, sharing a high five with Loki.  Frigga looks at them like they’re crazy, but offers no comment.

“You are still required to continue with your etiquette and history lessons,” Frigga says.  Eleanor deflates slightly.  “Also, training with Sif and your Asgardian music studies, but I hardly think you’ll object to those.”

“Nope, that’s all good.  I want to be able to beat up Loki,” Eleanor says, punching his opening palm.

“All I’d need do to defeat you is sit on you,” he says, grinning.  “Or get my arms around you.  I’m bigger.”

“Oh, is bigger always better?” she asks as he gets his arms around her.

“Absolutely not,” Loki says and she knows he’s thinking of Thor.  “Just in this case.”

She struggles, but is unable to free herself and unwilling to use some of the more brutal moves Sif’s showed her.

“It looks as though your every third morning is now free,” Loki whispers in her ear.  “However will we pass the time?”

“I could try and beat your all time record at tossing and catching the inkpot,” Eleanor says.

“You could never!”

“If this is some sort of innuendo, I’d really rather not know,” says Frigga.

“Mother!” Loki says, releasing Eleanor in his horror.

Eleanor laughs as Loki struggles to explain his little, lonely game of catch, but as he continues it sounds dirtier and dirtier while Loki gets redder and redder until Eleanor takes pity on him, covering his mouth with her hand.

“All right,” Frigga says, chuckling and shaking her head.  “That’s quite enough, children.  Lunch has arrived.  Shall we eat?”

They settle around the table in the library alcove where Loki always takes his meals. 

After Loki, Eleanor spends most of her time these days with the Queen and although she’s always liked Loki’s mother from the moment she surprised them in their tiny cottage in New Mexico, Eleanor genuinely loves the woman now. 

Frigga is kind and generous and funny, and, most important to Eleanor, she loves her son and seems to understand him in a way her husband and Thor just can’t.  She is the kind of mother Eleanor always wanted, and although she’s repaired her relationship with Maureen over the years, there will always be a distance between them because Maureen still cannot understand Eleanor’s lingering anger.

And Frigga loves Eleanor, too.

Eleanor learned to sew at Frigga’s insistence for fuck’s sake. 

Without Frigga, Eleanor would be as isolated here as Loki is, and although Eleanor still feels guilty when she leaves Loki to his prison for the day, she is thankful that the Queen is striving to help Eleanor carve out a bit of life here.

“I know you are not overly fond of sewing, Eleanor,” Frigga says, dabbing at her lip with a cloth.  “But as I learned, you too must learn.  It was not until I reached old age that I appreciated the craft.”

“Old?” Eleanor scoffs.  Frigga laughs.

“Thank you,” she says.  “In my youth I was much more interested in the training yard.”

“Mother was an accomplished warrior in her own right,” Loki says, obviously proud.

“That I was,” Frigga agrees.

“I can imagine that,” Eleanor says.  “So what happened?  Why did you retire?”

“I had children.  I did not feel both my sons’ parents should be risking their lives on a regular basis, “ Frigga replies.

“Perhaps Eleanor will follow in your footsteps, Mother,” says Loki.  “She managed to knock Sif to her knees upon their last meeting.”

“I am not sure screaming at her counts,” Eleanor says, grinning. “Do you know when they’re supposed to get back fromVanaheim?”

“It may be some time yet.  These fiends are rather adept at hiding away in mountainous caves.  Apparently, reaching them is proving difficult.”

* * *

 

“Just what do you think you are doing?”  Loki comes to stand in the archway between their bedroom and the balcony.  He scowls as he watches his wife walk along the railing, placing one foot in front of the other, using the thin edge of stone as she would a tightrope.

“Training,” replies Eleanor, not losing focus.  She places one foot carefully in front of another, but her eyes stay closed.  “Sif is off restoring peace to the Nine Realms so I am on my own to maintain all my new muscles.  Plus after last night, I just have all this energy.”

“Understandable.  You were magnificent.  Although I really do wish you would utilize me to burn off your excess energy.”

Spectacles such as Eleanor balanced precariously on the railing of their balcony are no longer so rare, but Loki feels twisted up as he watches her.  He learned not to vocalize his fear for her safety in such moments, but his instinct is to protect her, to snatch her away from any and all dangers.

As he predicted, Eleanor is greatly changed by their year in Asgard, but he did not think she would hone her body into one of a warrior after her less than auspicious start at this particular Princess Lesson.

Although her fighting abilities remain marginal at best, she can now wield a blade without harming herself and knows where to stick it to slay an enemy.   Where her body was once scrawny and angular, she is now toned and strong.  Much to his pleasure, she stays soft in the right places.  Her newfound agility and speed is impressive in theory. 

Seeing it in practice never fails to have dread churning in his gut.

He trusts her not to plunge to death off the side of the high balcony.  He trusts her to know her own limits.

But when she abruptly falls forward into a handstand, Loki is barely able to muffle his cry of dismay.  He constructs a magical – invisible – safety net to catch her should she fall off the balcony completely rather than onto the floor.

“Consider this a small break between rounds of really hot, adrenaline fueled, post-performance sex.”

She walks on her hands, her eyes still closed, and someone knocks on the door.

“There is someone at the door,” Loki informs her.

“I’m busy being upside down,” she says.  “You get it.”

Grumbling all the way, he obeys her instruction.  He loathes opening the door, hates seeing the hall where he cannot go and the pair of guards that remind him that this is indeed a prison.  The only time he willingly opens the door is to yell at Ido.

He opens the doors to reveal the servant girl that delivers their meals and assists Eleanor in dressing when the occasion calls for it. 

“My Prince,” she squeaks.  Her bow is clumsy.  “A letter from Midgard.  For Princess Eleanor.”

He takes the offered letter and shuts the door without even glancing at the guards posted on either side of the doors.

“Eleanor,” he says as he walks back to the balcony.  “You’ve a letter from Jane.”

“Open it,” she says. 

His wife is now balanced one handed on the railing and Loki would much rather look at the letter than watch Eleanor.  He fears the anxiety caused by watching her will bring him physical harm.

“You’re not going to read it out loud?” She pushes her body up and lands on the other hand. 

Loki feels faint but quickly scanning Jane’s written words does nothing to improve his condition.

“Not until you dismount, Eleanor.”

“Come on.  I’m trying to break my own record for being upside down on one hand on the railing of this balcony.”

“I will not risk upsetting you.  You will lose focus and fall to your death.”

Eleanor sighs heavily but launches herself in the air and lands gracefully on her feet before him.

He doubts he will ever be used to Eleanor’s hard-earned physical coordination.  It is perplexing, attractive, and terrifying, all at once.

“Lay it on me,” Eleanor says, stretching one arm across the other.

“The good doctor has moved to London,” Loki announces.  “She ended her contract with both Stark and the university to move to London.”

Eleanor stares up at him.  Her eyes narrow slightly.  When her disbelief wears off she is sure to unleash her fury and Loki braces himself.

He reads the remainder of the letter.  “Ah, and she has taken Miss Lewis with her.  Apparently someone called Erik Selvig happened upon some new discovery and enlisted the help of our two favorite mortals.  Who is this Erik Selvig?” he asks.  The name is somewhat familiar.

“Really?” asks Eleanor, full on glaring now.  “You basically lived in his brain for a couple days?  You forced him to build you a portal opener?  Jane still gets super mad when she thinks about it?  Really, this isn’t ringing a bell?”

“Yes, yes, it rings a bell.  Can you focus on an entirely more pressing matter?  Such as Jane’s extremely poor decision to move to London.  There is only one in England, I believe?” he snaps.

“Fuck,” Eleanor says.  She scrubs her hands over her face for a moment before grabbing the letter from his grasp.  “What the fuck is she thinking? London is where the unknown dangerous is that wants me to destroy the universe.”

Eleanor paces around the balcony, muttering to herself as she reads.  Loki can only make out the occasional profanity. 

“She’s curious!” Eleanor says, storming back to Loki and pushing the paper into his chest.  “This is scientific curiosity.  She is going somewhere possibly dangerous because she wants to know more about these anomalies.  And she wants to know if they have anything to do with my freaky visions.”

“Are you honestly surprised?”

“No.  But I am pissed.”

“Well, I am sure you will do an excellent job conveying that in your response.  And you must insist that she write me a letter of my own in which she includes every single detail of her studies.  Every detail, Eleanor.”

Eleanor huffs.  “Do you want to go have some angry-at-Jane sex?”

“That is exceedingly odd but I am amenable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heather and Erica were kind enough to beta this sucker for me. They are both so lovely and quick!
> 
> Thanks for reading/subscribing/reviewing/whatever.
> 
> Strap in, people! Things are about to get rough.


	12. All Hearts Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for this.
> 
> There is dialog in here right out of Thor 2, and I really don't know any of it.
> 
> 1st beta: Heather  
> Final beta: Erica

Eleanor stands at Frigga’s side on the wide gilded stairs directly to Odin’s left.  He sits on his throne as Thor approaches, flanked by Sif, Volstagg, and Fandral.  Hogun is notably absent.

The warriors detail their victory over the marauding fiends of Vanaheim and Eleanor tries not to yawn or fidget.

“Finally, after all the destruction wrecked by the disgraced prince, the Nine Realms are at peace once more,” says Odin.  Eleanor rolls her eyes.  “Tonight we shall feast.”

Eleanor wants nothing more than to go back upstairs to the undoubtedly morose, disgraced prince, but it is her duty to at least show up to the celebrations.  Frigga says that it is important for people to see her face.

Plus Eleanor really did miss Thor, Sif, and the rest.   It’s been over six months since they left to chase after the fiends.  Apparently it took a great deal of time to root them out of hundreds of hidden mountain caves.  The little skirmishes were easy Asgardian victories, but time consuming.

She drinks too much ale as she attempts to enjoy the victory party.  Fandral makes her laugh.  Volstagg recommends a truly bizarre combination of dishes that turns out to be excellent.  Sif promises to take Eleanor to the training yard tomorrow and then excuses herself to catch Thor on his way out.

Eleanor drinks some more ale and watches Sif, smiling and leaning towards a stunningly clueless Thor.  She thinks about Jane.  She misses Jane.  She wonders how Thor could be such an idiot.

The pair does not talk long and Sif doesn’t do a very good job of hiding her disappointment.  Thor is on his way out again, and Eleanor hands off her tankard to some random warrior that was trying to chat with her before rushing after him. 

While they were feasting it started to snow and Eleanor huddles in her cloak, trying not to slip on the wet snow as she tries to catch up with her brother-in-law.

“Hey, buddy,” she says, falling into step at his side.  Extremely difficult to do, given that the length of Thor’s paces are triple hers.

“Sister,” Thor greets, slowing slightly.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

“We?”

“You look sad.”

Thor sighs.  “I am a bit sad,” he confesses.

“Because you miss Jane.”

“After all this time, I continue to grieve for my loss.  Yes, I miss her.” Thor murmurs.  “I am going to the bridge now, if you’d like to join me.”

“You know she thinks the spying is creepy, right?”

“Better she think me creepy than her end up dead because we left her unprotected,” Thor says ruefully.  “She still resides in London, Eleanor.  And after your strange trances that attempted to bring you there, how could I not have Heimdall keep an eye on her?” 

“Dude, I’m not saying you are wrong.  Watch her.  Watch the hell out of her.  I still can’t believe she’s in London.  And Darcy too.”

“Will you join me?”

“No,” she says, pausing when they reach the long winding steps that lead to the road that leads to the bridge.  “The old ball and chain does not like it when I’m out so late.”

“Ball and chain?”

“Loki,” she says, containing her sigh.  Sometimes it’s impossible to have a normal conversation with the thunder god.  “Loki does not like it when I’m out this late.”

“And you call me creepy.  At least I am not controlling.”

Eleanor laughs.  “Goodnight, Thor.”

“Are you all right to get back to your rooms?”

“Yup.  We’ve been here a year and a half.  I’ve got a pretty good handle on the layout of this place.  Plus, I’m sure Ido’s lurking around here somewhere.  He’s my shadow.”

“Very well.  Good night, Eleanor.”

* * *

 

Someone is pounding on their door and Eleanor groans, scooting as close to Loki as possible and hoping it will just go away.

After ten minutes it becomes clear that it will not go away.

“Go answer,” Eleanor mutters, pushing Loki towards the edge of the bed.  “Whoever it is will just end up coming in anyway.”

“The downside of living in a prison,” Loki mutters, pressing a kiss to her forehead before rolling out of bed.  She opens one eye to watch him pull on pants and a tunic top before moving into the main room.

Loki is snapping at the knocker.  It must be a guard or maybe Thor.  But Thor only knocks for approximately six seconds before barreling on in.  It’s happened before.  Many times.

And now Loki is yelling, although Eleanor can’t make out the actual words.

A guard then, because Loki doesn’t yell at shy little Neela.  She hopes it is not Ido.  She’s grown rather fond of her shadow and Loki is scary when he doesn’t get a full night’s sleep.  It’s closing in on dawn.

“Eleanor,” he says, suddenly standing right next to her side of the bed.

“Shit!” she says, jerking into a seated position.  “You are so sneaky.”

Loki does not reply.  Looking grim, he simply hands her a piece of parchment.

“Who’s it from?” she asks, taking it.

“Thor.  Your presence is required in the healing rooms.”

“Jane’s here!” Eleanor says.  Her excitement is short lived as she continues to read.  “Jane’s sick?  She’s got something in her?  What the fuck does this mean?”

“I have no more information than you do, my love,” Loki says, running his hands through his hair.  “But I suggest you get dressed and depart.  Bring me all the information you can gather and I will do what I can.”

Eleanor nods and gets up, but she’s too shocked and shaky to do anything but stand in front of the dresser, worrying her lip between her teeth.

“Eleanor,” Loki says, handing her one of countless floor length dresses.  This one is modest with a high neckline and long sleeves.  It is hunter green and draped beautifully, but Eleanor is staring at it like she’s forgotten what one is supposed to do with a long sleeved, beautifully draped, hunter green Asgardian dress.

Loki pulls her t-shirt off over her head replacing it a moment later with the dress.

“Oh,” says Eleanor.

“Shoes,” says Loki.

He sends her off fully dressed, reminding her to bring him all the information she can get.

“She’ll be fine, Eleanor,” Loki says, kissing her as he opens the door to the hallway.

“Okay.  I love you, Loki.”

The guard posted at the door snorts as if she is joking, but she ignores him.

“I know, Eleanor.  Off you go.  Hurry.”

She hurries.

* * *

Before Eleanor enters the room she can hear Jane’s voice, gleefully correcting one of the healers on quantum whobewhatsits.  She certainly doesn’t sound sick and the whole thing is so very Jane it has Eleanor tearing up.

She runs, sliding on the marble and literally crashing into a wall of the examination room in her haste to get to Jane.  Various healers gasp in surprise but from somewhere to her right she hears Thor’s deep chuckle.

“Ellie!” says Jane, delighted.

Eleanor doesn’t say anything but leaps onto the raised bed where Jane is being quantum soul thmopbopomized.

“Aw, Eleanor,” says Jane, chuckling she returns Eleanor’s fierce hug.  “I missed you too.”

Suddenly all the hundreds of letters they’ve exchanged in the last eighteen months are crap and no replacement for the real deal.  Eleanor’s never missed Midgard and her old life there more.

“London, Jane.  Really? We warned you about London. What happened?” Eleanor asks, ignoring the healers that are snapping at Eleanor to _get down now_!

“I went somewhere.”

Eleanor stares blankly.  Jane launches into a whole big thing involving science and physics and wormholes and other shit.

“Jane, come on,” Eleanor says.  “Loki wants a full report on your condition and I don’t even know how to pronounce half of what you just said.  Oh!  He gave me paper so you could write it down.”

Eleanor hands Jane the little notebook and Jane laughs, starting to write.

“Why does your husband care for this mortal’s condition?” asks the head healer, Eir, crossing her arms over her chest and scowling.  Thor rises from the bench where he silently sat through their reunion.

“Because he wants to make sure she’s all right and if she isn’t he wants to help fix her,” Eleanor explains, sighing.

Pretty much everyone in the room makes a lot of doubt-filled noises at that.

“Loki and I are friends,” Jane says.  The healers gasp again, as if it is the most absurd thing to ever happen in the history of the universe.

“Yeah, he doesn’t even want to push you out windows when you talk,” Eleanor says.

Jane laughs.  Thor and the rest are much less amused.

“Princess Eleanor,” says Eir.  “Remove yourself from the examination tablet at once.  You are interfering with our patient’s care.”

“Sorry,” mutters Eleanor, doing as they say and taking the notebook from Jane. 

“ _Cranky_ ,” Jane mouths at Eleanor.

Eleanor elbows Thor and waggles her eyebrows, but the thunder god is too focused on Jane to pay attention to Eleanor’s gentle teasing.  He watches intently as Jane lies back down and the healers start up their soul forging once more.

“She was somewhere outside Heimdall’s sight,” Thor whispers.  His worry is contagious and Eleanor immediately sobers, reining in her excitement at seeing her best friend once more.  “Between worlds.  Somewhere ancient and hidden.  Something… infected her.  It was red and vile and powerful.”

“Red,” Eleanor repeats, deeply uncomfortable.

“It is _in_ her, Eleanor.  The energy threatens her life.”

“Fuck.”

Eleanor watches in horror as the swirling golden soul forge is discolored by something dark, and Jane remains relatively unconcerned.  She seems giddy to be back on Asgard.  Last time she was here for less than two days.  That was Eleanor’s doing and she resolves to give Jane a proper tour this time around.

“My words are mere noises to you that you ignore them completely?” Odin asks, filling the room with his stern voice and swarming guards.  He sweeps into the room with an overabundance of regality.

Eleanor tries to make herself very small in the hopes that the Allfather might not notice her.  Usually the king simply ignores her, but sometimes he is mean and cruel if Eleanor makes the mistake of acting a bit too Midgardian around him.

“She is ill,” Thor replies, putting himself between the Allfather and Jane, sitting up on the examination table.

“She is mortal,” replies Odin.  “Illness is their defining trait.”

“I brought her here because we can help her.”

“She does not belong here in Asgard any more than a goat belongs at a banquet table.”

The Allfather’s words make Eleanor snort.  Odin leans to the side, peering at her from around Thor’s massive form.

“Ah,” he says.  “I see both goats are in attendance.”

“Half goat,” Eleanor says, grinning slightly.  “Princess Half Goat.”

Odin actually chuckles before resuming his glaring at Jane.

“Hi,” says Jane.  “Nice to see you again, your majesty.”

Odin makes a low sound in his throat but is unimpressed by Jane’s manners.

“Something is within her, father,” Thor continues.  “Something I have not seen.”

“Her world has healers,” snaps Odin.  “They are called doctors.  Let them deal with it.  Guards, take her back to Midgard.”

Hidden by the billows of her dress, Eleanor flips the Allfather the bird.

“Whoa, hey,” says Jane, sitting up.  The healers are apparently done because they allow it.  “Thor and I aren’t even together anymore, but this really crazy explosion thing happens when people aggressively touch me, so we thought it might be a good thing to get checked out by people who have some experience with the magical.”

“Guards!” Odin booms.

The guards move in on Jane.

It does not end well for said guards.

As the Einherjar reach for Jane an explosion of red and black dust seems to blast from her skin.  Eleanor ducks at the last moment as the guards are thrown back into the wall.  Jane crumples to a heap as Eleanor blinks up in shock.

Thor is at her side the moment the swirling energy coils and retreats back within Jane.  He smoothens back her hair and she clutches at his wrists.

Eleanor is faced with the horrible realization that this burden was meant for her, not her best friend.  There is no way this plague could be different from the darkness of her dreams.  It beckoned her to London and settled for her best friend when she didn’t show up.

Getting to her feet is suddenly extremely difficult.

“Impossible,” Odin mutters, fucking around with the soul forge again.

“The infection, it’s defending her,” says Eir.

“No, it’s defending itself,” Eleanor mutters.  Her legs are shaky but she manages to stand, gripping the edge of the examination slab.  She exchanges a panicky look with Jane.

“Wise words, Sister,” replies Thor.

The Allfather stares at the gold and red and black lights still hovering over Jane.  “Come with me.”

Jane slides down and Thor’s hand goes to the small of her back.  Jane leans into his touch and Eleanor tags along.

* * *

 

Eleanor loves the library, even though the history lessons she attends here are a complete bore, and the only Princess Lesson that she hasn’t managed to succeed in thus far.

Past the towering carved wooden doors at the entrance to the library resides a living, moving tree representing Yggdrasil.  It’s several hundred feet tall, and the floors of the library circle it.  Eleanor likes to crawl under the low-hanging branches for her study breaks and look up at the colors, like she used to do as a little kid with the family Christmas tree every year.

Lying under the world-tree makes her feel so insignificantly tiny, yet part of something all the same. 

She dreams of coming here with Loki.  He’s spent so many hours in this library and knows all its secrets.  They could spend days exploring.

When Odin leads them through the double doors, Jane’s mouth falls open as she gapes up at the tree.

“Yggdrasil?” she mouths at Eleanor.  

Eleanor nods back.  She described this room in great detail in one of her first letters to Jane, but seeing is a different thing entirely.

“There are relics that predate the universe,” says Odin, verging off to a room to the left of the tree.  It holds the truly ancient history texts, and Eleanor spent far more time in here than she’d like to think about.  “What lies within her appears to be one of them.  The nine realms are not eternal.  They had a dawn, as they will have a dusk.  But before that dawn, there were dark forces.  The dark elves reigned absolute and unchallenged.”

“Born of eternal night, the Dark Elves come to steal away the light,” Eleanor mutters, thinking of Bragi and his dreams. Red and black, calling her to London before Loki finally took her away.

“You know this tale, Eleanor?” asks Thor. 

“Princess Lessons,” Eleanor explains with a shrug.

“These stories, Mother told them to us as children,” Thor replies.

“Their leader, Malekith,” Odin says, his voice rising as he glares at Thor and Eleanor for the interruption, “made a weapon out of their darkness that was called the Aether.”

“Fuck,” mutters Eleanor, putting together the pieces.  She should have connected this to Bragi’s warning when Frigga first had her learn all about the Dark Elves.

“The Aether is fluid and ever changing.”  Odin selects a familiar gilded book, opening it carefully.  Jane and Thor huddle together to see the pages better.  Eleanor does not need to see them to remember the pictures printed there.

“It seeks out host bodies, drawing strength from their life force,” Odin continues. 

“Fuck,” Eleanor mutters again.  That’s why it was supposed to be her, not Jane.  Because of her freaky alien genetics, Eleanor has more life force than the typical Midgardian.  This darkness, the Aether, sought her out until Loki took her beyond its reach.

And now the darkness has polluted Jane’s weak mortal body.

Odin goes on to detail the Dark Elves’ attempt to throw the whole universe into eternal darkness, and how his father Bor killed them all.

“He _thought_ he killed them all,” Eleanor corrects, knowing without doubt that this is it, the big time threat that’s been hovering over them for two years.

“He _did_ kill them all,” Odin snaps, turning his one-eyed scowl back on Eleanor.  “Why are you even here?  And you should be ashamed of your foul mouth.”

“Moral support,” says Jane. “She’s here for moral support.”

“Are you certain?” asks Thor.  “Did he truly kill them all?  The Aether was said to be destroyed and yet here it is.”

“The Dark Elves are dead,” Odin insists.

“Does this book happen to mention how to get it out of me?” Jane asks, running her hands up and down her arms.

“No.  It does not,” says Odin.  The bastard actually manages to sound apologetic so that’s something.  “Excuse me.”

Odin sweeps out of the room, leaving Thor, Jane, and Eleanor to gape at each other.

“Ellie, do you think—” Jane starts.

“Oh, yeah.  This has to be it.  Bragi’s dreams.  My dreams.  The fucking London thing.   The end of the universe.  This has to be it.”

“Our first priority must be removing this substance from Jane,” Thor decides, as if this was ever really a question.  He runs a palm up and down Jane’s spine and she leans into the touch.

“Also you should probably work on convincing Odin that this Dark Elves business could be the real deal,” says Eleanor.

“That is easier spoken than accomplished, but I agree.  Go tell my brother of this.”

“Wait,” says Jane as Eleanor nods.  “Give me that notebook.  I’ll right down the science stuff.”

Jane writes down the science stuff and then Eleanor rushes through the halls, back to their rooms.

* * *

“I do not like this,” Loki says, pacing the length of the main room. “It wanted to be awoken, Eleanor.  It wanted you and was forced to find a poor substitute.  Why now?  After lying dormant for thousands upon thousands of years why…”

He stops pacing just as he stops talking.

“Loki?” she asks, watching him from her position curled up under his fur cloak on the sofa.  The sun is out, providing a nice counterpoint to the snow of the previous night, and things are warming up.  The weather is certainly not the reason for Eleanor’s current chill.

“Now,” he finishes, turning on the spot to face her.  Loki studies his hands, slowing moving his palms together until all five fingers on each hand line up.  “Oh, dear.”

“What?” Eleanor says, pulling the cloak a little tighter around her shoulders.  “Loki, what?”

“The Convergence.”

“Convergence?  Convergence of what?”

“The Convergence of everything,” Loki replies.  “The Convergence of the realms.”

“All twenty seven of them?”

Loki rolls his eyes.

“What does that even mean?” Eleanor demands.

“All _nine_ realms will be aligned totally for a few moments.  The barriers between worlds will be nearly nonexistent.  It happens only every five thousand years and if circumstances were different I would be very interested in the chaos that results,” Loki muses.

“What does this have to do with the creepy darkness inside Jane that wanted to be inside me?” she demands.

Loki sighs heavily and moves to flop next to Eleanor on the couch.  He vigorously rubs his palms over his face.  “I know not,” Loki says, full on pouting.  “I loathe knowing not.  It has been said that Malekith would destroy all the worlds with the Aether, and using the Convergence would do so with the utmost efficiency.  But he is long gone.”

“When is this converging supposed to happen?” Eleanor asks, reaching out to rub the back of her neck. 

“I know not,” Loki says though a clenched jaw.  “A matter of weeks?  Perhaps a matter of days.  This is not the sort of thing I kept up with in my exile, although I am sure Heimdall is aware.”

Eleanor arranges the cloak around both of them, cuddling into his side.

“Conceivably, the Aether is not aware that its creators were eliminated long ago, and now it longs to fulfill its original purpose of destroying the universe at the only moment in five thousand years that it is possible do to so all at once,” Loki says into her hair.

“Are you sure they were all eliminated?” Eleanor asks, highly concerned.

“Yes,” Loki says, as firm in his conviction as the Allfather was.   “I’ve seen the most desolate corners of the universe but encountered no Dark Elves.”

“You haven’t seen the whole universe, Loki.”

“True,” he agrees.  “No possibility can be ignored at this point. You will gather all the available literature on the Convergence and the Dark Elves from the library.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, closing her eyes.  “I’ll go in a minute.  I was just there, you know.”

“By now you should have known that I would demand this of you,” Loki says with a chuckle.  His fingers are in her hair and Eleanor relaxes slightly, even if there will be no loosening of the knot of guilt and fear in her stomach until they fix Jane.  “You should have had the foresight to collect these works for me while you were there.”

Eleanor grumbles indistinctly

“And I would like to see Jane myself, if you could possibly drag her away from the Crowned Oaf.”

“Do you think they’ll get back together?”

“I care not.”

“It’s what Thor wants.”

Loki sighs heavily.

“Although, he really doesn’t deserve her after disappearing for a couple of years and his ridiculous theory about you and Jane doing it.”

“Eleanor, I am dying of boredom.”

“But they are so sweet together.”

Loki groans, tightening his fingers in her hair and dragging her mouth to his.  He kisses her thoroughly until a brisk knock sounds on their door.

“Come in!” says Eleanor, making Loki groan again.  He buries his face in her neck.

“My, the pair of you certainly make a pretty picture,” says Frigga.  The queen sweeps into the room with all of the regality and grace of Odin, but none of his arrogance. 

Loki blushes and attempts to pull away, but Eleanor tightens her grip on his shoulders.

“Thanks,” she replies.  “We really are cute.”

Her words are carefully selected to annoy Loki and he gives her a look of epic horror. 

“Cute?” he snarls.  “Release me, woman!”  He wiggles but makes no real effort to dislodge Eleanor.

“Hush, Loki,” Frigga says, dropping into the chair across from them.  “You are wed.  It is to be expected.”

“Yeah,” Eleanor echoes.  “We’re married.”

Loki stops trying to get away.  “That we are.”

“So, Jane,” Frigga says, launching into the reason for her unscheduled visit.  “The Allfather shared with me your conjectures, Eleanor, that the Dark Elves live on in some desolate corner of the universe.  And what are your thoughts, my son?”

“I think it is a possibility that cannot be overlooked,” Loki says.  “Remote as it may be.  I do not believe in coincidence.  This must be related to Bragi’s premonitions and Eleanor’s trances.  What is the Allfather doing to uphold his end of the bargain?  How does he plan to keep Eleanor safe, given this new insight?”

“Loki,” Eleanor says, trying to soothe his mounting agitation.  “Jane’s the infected one, not me.  Can we focus on her please?”

With a growl of disgust, Loki is up and pacing.  Eleanor and Frigga share a look that the God of Worrying misses as he stalks around, picking at his hand.

“Odin has the very best and most intelligent discussing possible solutions to Jane’s misfortunes,” says his mother.

“And what of Eleanor’s suspicions?  Does he have the very best and most intelligent searching out the enemy behind the awoken Aether?” Loki demands.

“Heimdall does not see—”

“There is much Heimdall does not see!  Odin himself taught me that, while Eleanor is living proof.  Now does the Allfather recognize the possibility that the Dark Elves might exist still?”

Frigga sighs heavily.  “I came here to bring Eleanor to luncheon with Jane, not to discuss—”

“Does he?”

“Loki, your father—”

“He’s not my father!” Loki shrieks, rounding on Frigga.  There is such raw hurt in his voice, in his angry, vulnerable expression, and Eleanor can feel it in her chest, as if the pain is hers also.  She closes her eyes for a moment to keep from crying, but she gets them open in time to see an equally distraught Frigga slowly rising to her feet.

“Then am I not your mother?” whispers the Queen.  Her expression is one of utter heartbreak and even after all these years there are deep wounds in this family that are far from healed.

“You are not,” he mutters like a petulant child.  Loki glances at Eleanor, who clearly conveys her disapproval with one cutting look.  “Technically,” he quickly corrects.  “You are not _technically_ my mother, but practice is a matter of far greater import, wouldn’t you agree, Mother?”

Eleanor can breathe again, and Frigga beams, taking both of Loki’s hands in hers. 

“I quite agree, my son,” she says.  “You never did learn to keep your fear from turning into rage.”

“Yes, Mother,” he replies with an eye roll and a sigh. 

“Not to worry.”  Frigga pats his hands twice before letting go and turning to Eleanor.  “I will keep your precious one safe as we lunch with Jane.  Get your cloak, Eleanor.  That ancient fur is far too large for your height.”

Reluctantly leaving Loki’s cloak on the couch, Eleanor finds her own.

“You will take Ido,” Loki says, walking them to the door. 

“I always take Ido.”

“And the library first, Eleanor.  All they have on the Aether and the elves.”

“Yes, dear,” she says, only rolling her eyes a little bit.

“Ido!” Loki booms, throwing open the doors.  The painfully nervous guard nearly drops his weapon in his surprise.

“Yes, my, my, my Prince,” he stutters.

“You are to protect my lady with your life,” Loki snarls, in full on menace mode.  “Any hurt she sustains I will inflict upon you and everyone you love.”

“Loki!” admonishes Frigga. 

“Dude, not cool,” says Eleanor. 

“Look at me, Ido,” Loki continues.  “Do you understand?”

“Yes, my Prince.”

“Good.”  Loki pulls Eleanor’s cloak more firmly around her shoulders.  He kisses her soundly and suddenly lunch with Jane is a whole lot less appealing. 

“I love you, you over protective brute,” she says.

Loki smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.  “Stay safe, my wife.”

Frigga takes Eleanor firmly by the elbow.  “We will dine here tonight, so you can see Jane.  On the condition that you promise not to fight with your brother,” says his mother.

“I promise, if he will promise also,” says Loki.

“I suppose that is the best I can hope for,” Frigga says with a chuckle.  “Until tonight.  Goodbye, my son.”

“Goodbye, Mother.”

* * *

 

They find Jane and Thor by the river, making out like teenagers. 

Frigga gasps.  The scandalized sound makes Eleanor laugh and the two lovebirds tear apart as it becomes obvious that their little spot is not so secluded after all.

Jane squeaks and slaps Thor across the face.

“I’m sorry!” she says, immediately. 

Thor sighs, making Eleanor wonder how many slaps he’s received since reuniting with the scientist. 

“I’m so sorry,” Jane says again, directing this apology to Frigga.  “It was instinct!  Or something.  I don’t know.  We are still broken up.”

“But, Jane—”

“Shush! Not here, Thor!  Sorry again, your majesty.”

Frigga manages a smile, but she is obviously baffled.  Eleanor takes the opportunity to make silent kissy faces at the embarrassed thunder god behind her mother-in-law’s back.

“Eleanor!” says Jane.  “Oh, my God, stop!”

She stops, lips still puckered when Frigga sighs. 

“Not very royal, Eleanor,” she says, but there is a smile in her voice.  “Hello, Jane.  It is good to see you once more, despite the less than ideal circumstance.”

“Hi.  Yes.  You too.  Asgard is even more beautiful than I remember.”

Eleanor crosses the distance and hugs the shit out of her best friend.

“So luncheon?” says Frigga.

Before anyone can reply, piercing alarms ring out through the city.

* * *

 

It is not magic Eleanor has seen before, and after eighteen months on Asgard that’s somewhat shocking.  Still, she’s heard of this sort of image projection.  Before they left Midgard, Loki warned her that this might be the only way Eleanor would be allowed to visit him in the white cells.

She reaches out to touch projection Jane’s forehead, watching her hand dissolve into blue magic.

“Cool,” she murmurs.

“Stop that,” snaps Jane.  “This is freaking me out.”

“You sound like Darcy.  I miss Darcy.”

Projection Jane nervously gnaws on her lower lip.

Eleanor blinks, abandoning the hologram’s eyes for those in her real, physical body.  Frigga’s hidden them in a secret tunnel and if Eleanor knew the palace a bit better she would lead Jane to Loki, but she would only succeed in getting them horribly lost. 

Jane’s body is next to her, and she is totally trapped in the projection, seeing only Frigga and the brightly light room where they are hiding out with a whole pack of Einherjar on the other side of the door.

Eleanor has been bouncing back and forth between the projection and her body, getting a feel for this new magic.

“Eleanor.” 

The Queen’s quiet, serious tone pulls her back into the hologram. 

Frigga stands under the stone arch that overlooks the water and Eleanor rushes to her side.  Everything appears still.  The water is placid.  The sun is shining, taking the edge off the chill still lingering from the night’s snow.

“What?” Eleanor whispers.

Behind her Jane makes a frustrated sound, still unable to figure out how to move her projection’s legs.

“Something is amiss,” murmurs Frigga.  “Something comes.”

“What, like something escaped the dungeons?”

This all seemed over-cautious when the alarm first went up, but a sense of dread takes hold of Eleanor now and she wishes they were locked down with Loki, but the trek to the private towers was deemed too far and they got shoved in here.

“More than a prison riot,” says Frigga, just as an alien aircraft flies into view, shooting fucking laser beams and destroying swathes of the city beyond.

“Holy fuck,” says Eleanor as a great glittering force field goes up around the palace.

The craft crashes into the golden shield and promptly explodes.  Frigga exhales, tension draining in her relief.

“We are safe,” says Frigga, reaching out to stroke Eleanor’s hair and frowning as the projection dissolves before her fingers. 

“What was that?” Eleanor asks.  Asgard under attack is such a huge, unfathomable thing.  War has not reached the borders of the Realm Eternal in thousands of years, since long before Odin’s rule. 

“I know not, my dear,” Frigga says and they both turn to look at Jane.

“Oh, God,” Jane says, still unable to stand.  She can bring a hand to her mouth so she does.  “This is my fault, isn’t it?  I brought them here.”

“No,” Frigga says, sliding onto the bench at Jane’s side.  Eleanor watches the shimmering golden dome that keeps them safe.  “The vile substance infecting you brought them here.  This is in no way your fault, Jane Foster.  No harm will come to you, child. We are all safe here.”

A brutal explosion shakes the palace beneath their feet and the golden, glittering globe flickers and slowly falls, just as it rose up around them moments before.  The unhampered sounds of battle reach their ears.  Somewhere below people scream.  Eleanor is brought back to New York and her hands shake.

“Eleanor,” says Frigga.  “Away from there.  Away from the window.  Inside.  Come sit by Jane.”

Eleanor sits by Jane.

They stare avidly at the destruction occurring in the city below and the aerial fighting over the water beyond.  The shouting gets closer and something beyond the doors burns.  The acrid smell tickles Eleanor’s nose.

“Remember to do exactly as I instruct,” says Frigga, standing as the double doors swing open.

Something from Asgard’s history books steps through the entryway.

“Stand down creature,” Frigga says, moving to meet this new threat.  “And you may still survive this.”

“I have survived worse, woman.”  His deep voice does not match his narrow, pale features.  Eleanor tries not to shiver when he takes her in with her dead eyes.  Jane somehow manages to get to her feet and huddles a bit closer to Eleanor’s projection.

“Who are you?” asks the queen.

“I am Malekith.”

“Aw shit,” says Eleanor, garnering the attention of the dark elf.  “I fucking knew it.”

“Ellie!” hisses Jane.

“Ah,” he says.  His grin is terrible and Eleanor stands a bit in front of Jane, forgetting for a moment that their bodies are tucked safely away in a secret passage.  “The vassal.  I recognize you from my dreams.”

“Creepy,” Eleanor replies.  She manages a bored drawl she’s heard a hundred times from Loki despite her racing heart and her complete terror.

“But no,” he continues.  Frigga keeps herself between the elf and the girls.  “It is not you.  It was supposed to be you, but it is not.”  His dead eyes fall on Jane.  “I will have what is mine.”

He reaches towards Jane and Frigga lashes out with her blade, catching the elf in the face.  Hissing in shock, he steps away from the queen.  Eleanor smirks because she’s heard stories from Frigga’s warrior past and she knows what’s coming.

The pair fights, Frigga a graceful, deadly blur, and Malekith losing ground, struggling to combat the queen’s onslaught.

“Wow,” whispers Jane.

“I know,” murmurs Eleanor.

After only a few seconds Frigga has defeated the ancient elf, forcing him back against a column and holding a blade to his throat.

Eleanor relaxes for a moment until she becomes aware of the giant, lumbering monster that gets his hand around Frigga’s throat, yanking her away from the elf.  He appears to be solid rock and Eleanor whimpers, suddenly sick with fear.

She considers taking a step forward, away from Jane and towards Frigga, but the queen gives her a look and she stays put.

“You have released something, child, and I thank you for this,” says Malekith, approaching them.  “Give it back.” 

He reaches out for Jane and the projection dissolves into rippling blue light.  Growling, he grabs at Eleanor next, his hand going through her shoulder but she does not let the projection fade.  She stays present in the room, with Frigga and the rock beast, facing down the elf and this disturbing lack of eyebrows.

“Witch!” he yells over his shoulder.  The horned rock monster tightens his grip on Frigga and she winces as the elf turns back to Eleanor. “Tell me, vassal.  Where is the girl?  Tell me or she will die.  Her life force will be drained and quickly.”

Eleanor says nothing.

“No?  You do not care for the life of the child?  Perhaps the woman’s death will motivate you.”  He turns to looks at Frigga.

Eleanor wracks her mind for a way out of this, wishing she possessed a fraction of Loki’s cunning.  Wishing Loki were here to tell her what to do.

“Tell them nothing, Eleanor.  Go now,” says Frigga, her voice hoarse.

“You try my patience.  I will kill her.”

The rock beast growls.  She sputters and scratches at his wrist as he lifts her off the ground.

“Stop!” Eleanor cries.

Frigga is lowered and gasps for breath.

“I’ll tell you.  I’ll tell you, but you must promise not to hurt Frigga or Jane.  Or me.”  Eleanor will lie.  She will waste time until someone more equipped to handle this shows up.  Thor or Sif or even Ido.

“I will not lay a hand on them,” says the creature. 

Eleanor gets the subtext.  He won’t need to kill individuals.  That will all get taken care of when he destroys the entire universe.

“Okay.”  She closes her eyes and draws out every precious second.  She wonders how patient this pointy-eared asshole is.

“Now!” he booms, his voice shockingly loud and deep.

Not very patient it would seem.

“We are being held—”

Frigga snaps her fingers and Eleanor jerks back into her body, the projection abruptly gone.  It stings and Eleanor finds herself staring at Jane in the dimly lit secret passage.

“Fuck!” Eleanor shouts, scrambling to her feet.  “Fucking, fuck!” And then she is running down the corridor.

“Ellie!” calls Jane.

“Stay the fuck here!”

She emerges a few seconds later through a false wall panel.  The palace is eerily quiet and Eleanor steps out of the hidden tunnel with great caution, securing the panel behind her and hoping that Jane stays put.  

Satisfied that she is mostly alone, she sets off.  She rounds the corner to the hallway that will lead her back to Frigga and abruptly trips, falling forward.  She catches herself on her hands and it takes her a few long seconds to realize that she is fully laid out on top of Ido.

Except it is not Ido.  Not anymore.

His eyes are lifeless and his flesh still smolders.  The stench is unbearable and Eleanor scrambles to her feet, a sob escaping her throat.

Ido, her precious shadow, is just a body now, a burned out hull.

And Eleanor has to save Frigga from a similar fate.  She closes Ido’s eyes and takes his blade. 

The doors to the room that hold the queen are open but another strange creature stands between Eleanor and Frigga.  It is facing away, giving Eleanor a glimpse of braided white hair and pointed ears.

Sif taught her stealth.  Now she moves as quickly and quietly as possible and she is nearly upon the elf when it turns to her.  The blank white mask is a thing of nightmares and it makes no sound at all as Eleanor’s blade finds a weak spot between pieces of armor, gutting it under the ribs and pushing until she gets to where its heart might be.

When Eleanor withdraws her blade, a thick spray of hot blood paints her dress.  She can’t hear anything over the pounding of her own heart, but the creature is undoubtedly dead. 

Sif would be so proud.

The thing crumbles to the floor at her feet, giving Eleanor an unobstructed view of Frigga, held in the air by her neck. 

The rock beast sticks a blade in Eleanor’s queen, in exactly the same spot that served so well to kill the elf dead on the ground.

Eleanor wants to scream, but she’s forgotten how.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't even look at me.
> 
> But feel free to yell. It is nothing less than I deserve.


	13. The Only Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably apologize in advance for this chapter, too...  
> Thank you all for being so wonderful.
> 
> I own nothing. There is dialog here straight out of Thor: The Dark World. I really didn't write that.
> 
> And big thanks to my lovely betas!  
> 1st beta: Heather  
> Final beta: Erica

Loki has tossed the inkwell only seventy-nine times consecutively when there is a knock at the door. He catches the item an eightieth time before scrambling up from his position on the floor to answer.

“Finally,” Loki says to whoever is behind the impressive stack of books. The tower of tomes blocks the servant from view and Loki is practically vibrating from excitement.

For the first time in the year or so he’s been confined to these rooms, Loki has purpose again. New knowledge awaits him and Loki gleefully removes the books from the servant’s arms.

“Excellent,” Loki says, grinning around the stack at its deliverer. When he sees the young guard, the books fall to the floor around him. “Ido!”

The insipid Einherjar backs away into the hall, out of Loki’s reach. He flinches at Loki’s murderous tone.

“My Prince, apologies. Apologies, my Prince. There were no available attendants to deliver these volumes and Princess Eleanor said she would bring them up herself but the Queen did not wish to be late, so Princess Eleanor instructed that I bring you the collection. I—”

“Enough,” Loki says, holding up a hand. “Do you not have more pressing matters to see to? Such as an incessantly bossy half-mortal princess to protect with your very life?”

Ido squeaks and stumbles off.

Loki tries to rub away a headache at his temples and hates that the bumbling Einherjar reminds him of himself at that age, insecure and without confidence. Loki was much better at hiding it than Ido.

He rubs absently at the golden ring on his left hand as he collects the books, pleased that it is cool, satisfied that Eleanor is safe despite Ido’s side trip back to this tower.

The books are spread before him and he takes a moment to gaze upon them, suddenly as ravenous as Volstagg at a feast, before sorting through the titles. He bypasses the history books that often abandon fact to pontificate on glorious battle and the glorious victory won by glorious Asgardian warriors.

Instead he focuses on a very old text on the Aether, written in the language of the Dark Elves. Unfortunately, he does not fluently speak this ancient dialect, but it is similar enough to modern elven language patterns that it takes only an hour or so for him to decode the work.

There is a chill in the air so Loki takes his selection on the Aether to the balcony in order to enjoy the winter weather, focusing on newfound purpose rather than the possible fruition of old fears.

The crash is so distant Loki would hear nothing if he chose to study in his library as he usually would, but the day is bright and crisp so he glances up, thinking perhaps he hears incorrectly.

There is dark, twisted metal smoking on the rainbow bridge. He blinks as if this will change the strange view back into the familiar and pristine landscape he grew up with, but rubble continues to sully the bridge. Loki can make out a hull of some sort.

Discarding the book, Loki slowly rises and leans over the edge of the balcony, trying to understand the inconceivable vision before him.

And then it gets even more unbelievable as long, dark craft shimmer out of invisibility and into existence, stark and ominous against the clear sky.

With them comes terror.

“Eleanor!”

Loki is helpless, held to these rooms and the small courtyard below by his wife’s command. It is the single most frustrating and petrifying experience of his long life and he paces the length of the balcony, eyes fixed on the foreign craft ruining the sanctity of his sky.

Much like earlier when he was so needlessly cruel to his mother, Loki’s fear manifests as blinding, thrashing, gnawing rage, and he has no means to expel it from his system. He longs to give into the desire to cause hurt, but there is nothing here to destroy.

The craft does not venture near and Loki paces the boundary of his cell, pushing and struggling to get out in the courtyard and then through the door. There is little hope of success, but idleness will cause him to lose his mental faculties once more so he tries, even as the golden globe goes up around the palace.

Loki marvels at the protection. The dome is something he’s seen only in books, as it has not been activated in his lifetime. He calms somewhat because Eleanor is within the gleaming bubble. She was with his mother, the Queen, and there is no one more equipped to keep his wife safe.

But then the dome dissipates before his eyes, falling away as he looks on in horror.

Hatred fills him anew, so intense that he stumbles, leaning against the railing of the balcony to keep himself upright. For one appalling moment, Loki hates Eleanor, hates his wife, for trapping him here, for leashing the very monster that would keep her safe no matter the cost.

Fuck the universe. Fuck the Aesir. Eleanor is his sole concern and he would tear worlds apart for her, but he is useless, trapped, without power.

It has been years since Loki resented their bond as he did in the beginning. He started thinking of it as theirs rather than Odin’s, something connecting them in profound and innumerable ways. It is a comfort when she is away, something within himself that gives him access to her as well. He can touch their bond and know that she is truly his, not a vision from the Tesseract or a titan-induced mirage, but a flesh and blood woman that willingly bonded her soul and life to his.

But now he hates the bond as he once did, for with it comes the command that traps him here.

Once more the bond belongs to Odin and oh, how he loathes the Allfather.

If anything is to happen to Eleanor in this assault, Loki will stick his dagger through Odin’s throat, pushing the blade in with such slowness as to prolong the sweetness of the moment. He will gleefully watch the blood drain from the Allfather’s body as the life slowly flickers from his eyes.

But above all else he wants his wife, here with him and whole.

Loki can hear screams from the city below. He wonders for a moment if this feeling of dread, disbelief, and powerlessness is what the Midgardians felt when he unleashed the Chitauri on New York.

He moves inside, back to the doorway to yell into the hall, demanding answers, demanding his wife, but he is met with silence only. Ido is the only regular in this hallway – besides Eleanor and his mother and the night guard whose name Loki did not bother to remember – but Ido is with Eleanor.

Loki hopes.

He screams into the deserted hallway for a bit longer and then looks within himself, attempting to touch the bond, but he cannot focus. Their connection is temperamental and intangible. It is only accessible when Loki can concentrate all of himself on the love he holds for Eleanor, but hate is hitting him in waves and his ring burns hot on his left hand and he cannot find her.

Loki seeks to calm his breathing and let go of his malignity, using a ludicrous mortal technique of meditation that he’s found surprisingly helpful in the past, but he is too sick with fury and dread. He yells once more into the hallway and pushes fruitlessly against the barrier Eleanor created that traps him here.

With a start of surprise, Loki finds himself crouched in the doorway, head in his hands. It seems as good a place as any, and he squeezes his eyes shut, desperately searching for Eleanor, trying to force access to the bond. It gives him a headache, but as long as he presses forwards against the invisible barrier keeping him in these rooms, Loki knows that she lives on.

If she dies, the invisible barrier will die also and for the first time Loki wishes to remain trapped.

He pushes and claws and demands within himself, but the bond stays tucked away in the recesses of his psyche, where it will linger while this rage consumes him so.

And then hot hands are on his face, tilting his head up. Despite the pain in his head, Loki opens his eyes. Eleanor’s face fills his vision and he breaks with relief. He will be content to simply stare at her face for the rest of eternity, but her lips form words that his ears do not process. He cannot hear anything but a distant ringing and he shakes his head. It takes extreme focus, but he manages to get his ears back in working order for his wife’s sake.

“Loki.” Her voice is so quiet. “Please, come back. Loki. Please.”

There is such sorrow in his wife, written in her expression and apparent in the hitch in her voice as she speaks, but in his relief Loki cares only that she is alive and here.

“You’re safe,” he murmurs, stroking her cheeks as she strokes his. All at once he becomes aware of the supreme discomfort of his crouched position, so he rises, pulling Eleanor up to stand before him. He knows not how long he remained kneeling at the doorway.

“Loki.” She says his name as if it is the only word she knows. He studies her face, noting her haunted expression and messy hair before pushing her cloak from her shoulders to better run his hands down her arms, checking for injury. He meets smooth skin only.

“You’re safe,” he says again, trying to convince himself. Something dark is splattered on her dress, smeared over her hip and side. He frowns. “Is this blood?”

“Oh,” says Eleanor, dazed. “It’s not mine.”

“I know,” he replies. “It is purple.”

“Loki, I…” Her voice breaks and Loki cannot stand the pain in her expression. In this moment he cannot know what she saw, what she was forced to do to return to him whole, what Loki was not able to protect her from.

“Hush,” he says, pulling her into his chest. Her little hands fist in the fabric of his thick winter tunic. “You are safe, Eleanor. I’m here. All will be well.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head and pushing him back. “No, Loki. It won’t.”

“Eleanor? What do you mean?”

“I’m so sorry,” she says, tears spilling down her cheeks, finally breaking free from the mask she always wears in times of great distress.

“Sorry?” he repeats as Eleanor takes another step back. His hand drops to her hip for he cannot bear to not be touching her.

“I… She, oh.” Eleanor loses her voice and sends a beseeching look over her shoulder to the hallway.

Loki is surprised to see a battle weary Thor loitering in the entryway and wonders if his brother has been standing there since Eleanor came back alive. In all likelihood Thor escorted his wife back and the thunder god did not even take the time to wash away the blood and sweat of battle.

For this Loki is thankful, but there is sorrow in Thor’s face, an expression so similar to the one Eleanor wears with the addition of a rage Loki understands all too well.

“Brother,” Thor says. It is not a tone Loki’s heard before and dread twists in his gut.

“What is it?” Loki snaps, taking a step away from Thor and closer to a quietly sobbing Eleanor.

Thor opens and closes his mouth four times, and still he does not manage to form words.

“Tell me!” Loki demands, unable to keep the hysteria out of his voice. The words are familiar and Loki knows something is coming that will crush him as thoroughly as the last time he made this demand of a member of his false family.

“It’s Mother, Loki,” Thor finally manages. “She… they… She was stabbed. She is gone. They killed her.”

He reels. He is wrecked.

He nods once at Thor and stumbles back, dropping his hand from Eleanor’s side

“Loki.” Thor’s voice is far away and the name he speaks does not sound real.

“Don’t,” Loki whispers as Thor approaches.

“Brother—”

“Do not touch me!” He clutches at his chest, awaiting the familiar constriction of panic, but there is nothing. He feels nothing.

Eleanor is looking at him with big sad wet blue eyes. Thor stays rooted in the doorway, hand still stretched out towards Loki. There are tears in his eyes, too. Loki should cry too but he cannot because he feels _nothing_.

“No,” he hears himself say. The voice is small but it doubtlessly comes from his lips. “I saw her this morning. We are to have dinner together on this night. I promised to keep from fighting with you, if you would promise also.”

“Loki,” Eleanor says. Her voice breaks and he knows this horror to be truth. “I saw it happen.”

“Oh,” he says, taking another step away from his wife and his brother.

Thor is reaching out once more, but Eleanor stays still.

The hatred builds once more into something raw and blinding. He would surely destroy any who touch him in this moment. He would unwittingly freeze the life right out of them.

“She… she died honorably,” Thor murmurs.

“Fuck your honor,” says Loki.

“She died protecting our… she died protecting Jane and Eleanor!” Thor says, rather angry himself.

Loki looks at Eleanor, so utterly ruined, and knows not what he feels with the exception of his rage. He longs to expel it, to release his hatred, and he does not particularly care how or who he hurts as he seeks relief. Vengeance is too specific for this moment and he cares not what he does with this rage as long as he can feel the satisfaction of destruction.

“Loki,” Thor says again.

Loki’s fingers turn blue and he turns away from his brother. “I said do not touch me! Leave. Now!”

“But, brother, I would—”

“Leave!” The command is shrill, not like his typical intonation at all. Without looking to ensure that Thor follows his command, Loki flees to the balcony. The cold is a relief against his skin and allows him the focus to purge the blue from his hands.

Loki paces, attempting to kill the urge to destroy with every frantic step.

He hears Thor murmur something and then a door shuts. His brother is gone, listening to Loki for once in his life, and it is a relief and a disappointment.

Loki paces and paces, walking the length of the balcony, down the stairs, around the courtyard, and back up the stairs before starting again and again and again.

On his fourth pass he notices his wife, sitting on the cold stone floor of the balcony, with his fur cloak pulled around her shoulders and over her head. A flagon of wine is clutched between her hands and she drinks heavily, not even glancing at him as he passes.

Loki is momentarily tempted to join her in the indulgence of alcohol, partially to ensure that she does not consume too much, but drinking is Eleanor’s coping mechanism while destruction is Loki’s. He fears this urge will be magnified by wine and there is nothing here to destroy, save for Eleanor.

And he will not hurt Eleanor, not again, so he does not alter his route, as much as he longs to soothe his hurts by touching her skin.

On the fifth pass he calms slightly.

On the seventh pass his rage returns, far more potent than before.

On the eighth pass he screams at his wife as he continues to pace, blaming her for trapping him in these rooms. If he were free, he could have saved Mother. If he were there, he could have prevented Eleanor from doing whatever she did to smear blood on her dress. He accuses her with a thousand possibilities and Eleanor simply watches him with big sad wet blue eyes.

On the ninth pass, Eleanor is no longer in her spot in the floor, but the empty flagon of wine remains.

On the thirteenth pass, Eleanor is back but her attire is clean and Midgardian. She does not speak and Loki’s hatred is directed inward, burning low in his gut for he cannot mollify her hurts, just as he could not prevent them from occurring in the first place.

Eleanor watches him, her gaze glassy, her mask slipping. She’s found a new flagon of wine and Loki should really confiscate the drink – the majority of his memories of thoroughly intoxicated Eleanor are not pleasant – but he does not dare approach her and he will not as long as the urge to turn blue and pull apart worlds tickles his hands.

Frigga is dead.

Loki paces as night falls black and oppressive. The palace and the city beyond are far too quiet, collectively shocked silent by the first invasion in thousands of years and the death of a most beloved royal. He resents the Aesir for their grief, for placing a claim on Loki’s mother. It is irrational and he hates himself anew for his weakness, for his inability to change what he feels.

Eleanor continues her silent vigil and Loki is somewhat relived to see her there, silent, distraught, alive, each time he crests the staircase after completing the loop around the courtyard.

As a couple, they have faced great hardship in the past. Eleanor was Loki’s strength as he slowly, painfully regained his sanity and accepted his devotion to her. Loki attempted to ease her woes through the turmoil that Bragi wrought. They understand how to provide what the other needs in times of distress, but this is beyond anything they have dealt with in the past.

Loki’s mother is dead and all he needs is beyond Eleanor’s capability to provide. His wife needs what he needs as well. They both need Frigga to sweep into their room, gently teasing them both for believing she could possibly perish and reassuring them with motherly, loving embraces.

It will not happen for Frigga is dead.

He does not begrudge Eleanor her grief as he does the rest of Asgard. Eleanor does not love easily, but she loved his mother like Frigga was her own.

Eleanor saw it happen, an image that will haunt her for the remainder of her days and one more trauma Loki failed to protect her from.

On his sixty-third pass, Eleanor is no longer there. His footsteps falter and he diverges from his comforting path without thought, searching out his wife, heart rate rising as he irrationally fears for her life even with the ring on his hand cool and calm.

She sits in their golden bathing basin, curled as small as possible into a ball with her knees tucked under her chin.

Loki spent a day when they first arrived on the Realm Eternal installing a shower head over the bath, something generally not done but a small Midgardian comfort that he hoped would make Eleanor’s transition here less unpleasant.

She utilizes it now and the rain of water disguises her tears, but Loki knows that his wife cries by the shaking shoulders. Her face is turned away from him as he debates for a moment what action to take. What a terrible husband he is, unable to protect what is his from such suffering, for fear that his hate will destroy them both.

Eleanor lifts her head but Loki is fleeing back to the balcony and his route before she can know he was ever there.

* * *

 

Loki paces and loses count of how many laps he completes. He paces until the first hints of light creep over the horizon and he is numb to the despair. The hatred still sits in his chest, simmering and dangerous, aching to explode outward, but he is calm now, even if it took hours to reach this state.

He understands now that his true failing as husband is his inability to comfort his wife in this time of great heartbreak. It is not what Frigga would have him do, so Loki trudges inside, his guilt growing when he sees Eleanor lying flat on her back in their bed, wrapped in his cloak. Her eyes are open and staring at the ceiling. Loki does not doubt that she has not moved from this position since climbing out of the bath.

He slides in next to her and Eleanor turns her head to look at him.

He knows not where to begin.

“I saw it happen,” Eleanor says, her voice croaky and tired. It is obvious that she has not slept this night. “It was the Dark Elves. And Malekith. And some crazy powerful smoldering rock monster thing. I don’t know. Kursed, I think Thor said.”

Loki tugs at the cloak, unsurprised to find her naked underneath, until they are wrapped up together, faces close, but still not touching. He does not quite trust himself to touch.

“Do you want to hear this?” she asks.

“No,” he murmurs. “But I am afraid it is necessary. Continue, if you have the strength for it.”

In a flat, dead monotone, Eleanor gives excruciating detail of his mother’s final moments. Frigga’s trick with the projections does not come as a surprise, but Eleanor’s recklessness does. As terrifying as it is, Loki is also somewhat proud to hear how desperately Eleanor fought to get back to Frigga, even if it was deathly foolish and too late. His wife is now a killer, like him but also nothing like him, and it is another thing Loki failed to spare her from.

Eleanor’s tale ends with Frigga impaled, bleeding out on the floor in a matter of moments just as Thor arrived to drive away Malekith and his creature. The leader of the dark elves was injured, but will come back for Jane the moment he is able.

When Eleanor’s voice breaks and the tears come, Loki finally gives in to the urge to hold her through the pain.

Shockingly, the world does not end with his touch.

* * *

 

He does not recall falling asleep, but somehow everything is worse upon waking. As he remembers, it is like hearing the news all over again.

For a long moment he is still, faintly aware that the quiet voices he hears in the main room in all likelihood have something to do with the fact that he is alone in bed.

As he sits in silence he is assaulted by a feeling much worse than rage. He pushes it down and forces himself to get up. He glances at his body, noting the same clothes he wore yesterday but not having the energy to change. Dragging his feet, he follows the voices.

“He didn’t sleep all night, Thor,” murmurs his wife. He can tell by the lifeless tone alone that she’s turned it all off again. But she speaks at the very least. That is more than she did when her father perished. “I’m not waking him unless it’s important.”

“It is in regards to the funeral, scheduled for tomorrow after nightfall,” Thor replies, causing a sharp pain to Loki’s chest. “But I suppose he can sleep on. This does not involve him.”

“What doesn’t involve him?” Loki snaps, standing behind Eleanor where she is seated from across the thunder god. Thor nearly stands but then remembers Loki’s unwillingness to be touched yesterday and abruptly sits back down.

“Brother,” Thor says. “I was just discussing arrangements with your wife.”

Loki says nothing and reaches down to rub Eleanor’s shoulders. She leans back into his touch, but does not turn to look at him.

“Not until tomorrow?” Loki asks. “You do realize there is still the very pressing matter of the Dark Elves and what is inside Jane? You disappoint me, brother. I thought you would focus on what is important, focus on vengeance.”

“Mother’s funeral is of great import,” says Thor. For the first time in a long while, Loki feels like the chastised younger brother because of course their mother’s funeral is of great import. “As for the rest, I fear grief has blinded Father. As it blinds us all.”

“Your father,” Loki hisses. “And I see clearly enough. They will be back, Thor. Sooner rather than later, and it is Jane they will take next. Or, even worse, Eleanor.”

“I am aware of the situation,” Thor says, maintain an uncharacteristic and infuriating calm. “Now, allow me to finish my business with Eleanor so I can resume discussions with Father—” Thor clears his throat. “With _my_ father on how best to proceed. Does that suit you, Loki?”

Loki simply glares, but Thor takes his silence for agreement.

“Dear sister,” says Thor, turning back to Eleanor. “There is a traditional funeral dirge. Here are the lyrics.”

“Is this Old Norse?” Eleanor says, squinting at the words as she accepts the parchment.

“Indeed,” says Thor. “I have faith that you can manage it by tomorrow night.”

“You want me to sing it? I don’t speak Old Norse! I can’t even say meow meow.”

“Mjolnir,” Loki and Thor correct as one.

“I have the utmost confidence that you will manage,” Thor says. “This is a great honor, and convincing Odin that said honor belongs to you as Mother’s protégé and daughter-in-law was no easy task. I am afraid I did not have near enough success when attempting to get the Allfather to allow Loki to attend the funeral.”

Despite the raw pain he feels at this announcement, Loki is unsurprised.

“What?” says Eleanor, on her feet and furious. “You best be fucking kidding. She is his mother! He’s fucking going to the fucking funeral.”

“He is not, Eleanor,” Thor murmurs, shaking his head.

“I’m going to have a talk with Odin,” Eleanor says, making a move towards the door. Both Loki and Thor block her path. “Are you two really fucking teaming up against me on this? Really?”

“Odin is not overly fond of you, Eleanor,” Loki says. “I will not allow you to risk your tenuous position here, made even more tenuous by… recent events.”

“This is a battle already fought,” Thor says. “I lost and for this I am truly sorry, but it is done.”

“But, but, but,” stutters his wife, looking back and forth between the brothers. “If Loki’s not going then I’m not fucking going.”

“You are going and you will sing,” Loki says, rubbing his temples and sighing heavily. He is ignored as Eleanor advances on Thor

His wife is brimming with righteous indignation on his behalf and perhaps this latest slight should cause a similar reaction in Loki, but he is far too exhausted to feel much of anything at all. Someday, the fact that Odin has banned him from his mother’s funeral will be the source of pain, but for now he will linger in his apathy, drained from the effort of constantly containing his rage. By focusing on his wife’s hurts, Loki himself is able to maintain a blessed – though thoroughly exhausting – numbness.

He does not have the energy to fight as Eleanor fights, nor can he even enjoy the shock on Thor’s face as Eleanor yells at him. Her ire threatens to crumble Loki’s barely-controlled calm and when he speaks this time it is with such a demand that Eleanor listens.

“You will attend the funeral and you will sing,” he says again. His wife turns her scowl on him now.

“But—”

“No, Eleanor. Do not make this about me. She would want you there.”

“I don’t want to leave you alone,” she whispers, tears collecting in her eyes once more. Loki snags her wrist and pulls her close to his chair.

“I will endure,” he murmurs.

“Loki.”

“Please. Please do this for me, for her. It’s important that you attend and that you sing.”

She stares at him for long, drawn out moments, as if she expects him to unravel before her and he is undeniably close, but not in the way she would expect.

He is not on the precipice of some great emotional breakdown, but rather a violent episode that will fulfill his need to destroy everything.

“Okay,” Eleanor whispers, squeezing his hand.

Loki nods.

“Okay!” booms Thor with boundless relief.

* * *

 

Loki teaches Eleanor the traditional funeral dirge.

They start with written lyrics on parchment that Loki dutifully translates. The song speaks of the honor in death and the glory of Asgard. Eleanor is unimpressed and Loki is not overly fond of the song either as it is utterly devoid of any real meaning, but is it tradition.

Eleanor then proceeds to totally butcher the language.

“How is it that you can memorize any piece of exceedingly complicated music at a glance but my language baffles you so?” asks Loki, genuinely confused.

“Music makes sense,” Eleanor replies, braiding her hair. He reaches out to still her hands, attempting to calm her nervous energy. “Hearing it helps. Hey! Sing it for me.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“Absolutely not.”

They bicker for a few moments until keeping his rage at bay becomes nearly impossible, so Loki gives in for the sake of peace.

For the first time in the history of their relationship, Loki sings for the songbird. He is self-conscious and quiet, and by the time he is done his wife is weeping once more. Her tears enrage him and he locks his jaw to keep from saying something foolish or hateful.

“That was beautiful,” she murmurs.

Loki scoffs.

“Someday you are singing for me again,” she says.

Before he can argue, Eleanor lifts two fingers to the slender column of her neck and opens her mouth. Her rendition is flawless as she once more harmonizes with herself, three of Eleanor’s voices projected to fill the entirety of their room. In her capable hands, the funeral anthem is no longer impersonal, instead becoming meaningful and powerful. Even without knowing the exact meaning of the words she sings, her pronunciation is nearly perfect. She shifts the focus of the song from the glory of Asgard to a painfully personal goodbye and she does it all through expression, through feeling, as none of the words are altered.

She will once more stun the public for the better.

Her final notes hold a promise to remember and suddenly Loki’s hard-fought control is slipping once more as Eleanor looks to him to pass a verdict on her rendition.

“Yes,” he manages. “Good.”

“I pronounced everything right?”

“Yes.” Being near her is unbearable and Loki scrambles to his feet, desperate to work out this feeling in his chest without destroying or hurting. “Excuse me,” he mutters, returning to the well-worn route he carved out yesterday after his mother was murdered.

He paces and paces, until the sun sets, until Eleanor falls into a restless sleep, until he can no longer feel his feet.

* * *

 

She dresses in all black, save for the golden braided tiara Frigga bestowed upon her. Loki assures his wife that the rest of the attendants at the funeral will be in their ceremonial best, Eleanor will not be dissuaded from upholding this one mortal tradition.

Thor arrives to collect her – a condition of Loki allowing her to leave his sight now that Ido is deceased – and it is unsettling to see the Crown Oaf so grim. Once this grief was something they would share, but their fragile truce does not extend so far.

At the doorway Eleanor cradles his jaw, pulling his face close to hers. “My voice is going to fill the whole city,” she murmurs. “You taught me how to do that. Promise you’ll go out on the balcony and listen? Like you did last summer?”

Loki nods absently.

“I brought you a lantern,” murmurs Thor from the hall.

Loki says nothing.

Eleanor kisses the corner of his mouth. “I love you,” she says before leaving him alone.

Alone he does not have his wife to focus on. Alone he cannot use her grief to keep himself numb. Alone he can no longer deny the miserable truth of his mother’s untimely demise. It hits him with a suddenness that has him staggering.

Frigga is dead.

Never again will his mother walk through the door to fuss over him or to order Eleanor about or to join them for dinner because she simply missed his company. There will be no opportunity for redemption, nor will he ever be able to apologize and tell her that he will always return her graciously given love, despite his pride and his petulance.

She will never see her sons make peace or hear Eleanor sing. Some vile creature robbed her of several millennia of memories to be made, robbed Loki of a chance to prove himself worthy of her affection.

The rage explodes out of him without conscious thought, a magical wave of destruction that upends furniture and shatters glass.

His first instinct is to leash his fury, to control his emotions back into that blessed apathy, to protect Eleanor and hide his hatred from his grieving wife, but she is not here.

Loki is alone.

And so he lets go.

* * *

 

Silent tears run down Eleanor’s cheeks from the moment she gathers with Thor, Odin, and a handful of important nobility by the water. Jane is absent, locked away by the Allfather. It is something to worry about after the funeral.

The Aesir are silence criers and Eleanor can’t bring herself to look down at the queen in the boat.

No one speaks for there is nothing really to say, but Eleanor needs to sing.

Frigga is sent to sea, her boat set aflame. She is followed by Ido and the other four hundred and two warriors and civilians who also fell in the attack.

Thor nods at Eleanor and she steps forward to the shore, water lapping at the toes of her shoes. She lifts two fingers to her neck, infusing magic into her vocal cords that will project her voice into every inch of the battered city, down to the white cells and up to Loki on their balcony.

She sings and four hundred and three more flaming arrows are sent to four hundred and three more boats.

From all corners of the city lanterns are released into the night sky in a sight that seems too beautiful for an event so painful. She wonders which one of the thousands of lights sent to honor the dead is Loki’s.

When Frigga’s boat floats out over the edge of the realm, Eleanor’s voice wavers, but she manages to finish the song before her hand drops to her side. The city watches in heavy silence as the other flaming boats follow Frigga’s path, floating over the edge and dissolving into thousands of bits of light.

When the lanterns and the lights are all gone, Odin turns to Eleanor. Tears fall steadily from his remaining eye. The King of Asgard sees her and his face twists into something murderous and mean.

Eleanor can’t help but take a step back, recoiling in her shock. Odin has never been a fan of hers but this blatant hate is a recent development.

“I know what you’ve done,” he says, voice low and chilling. “The love of the people won’t protect you forever, Eleanor Bragadóttir, and I will have my revenge.”

“Uh, what?” she manages, at a complete loss.

“This was your doing. I should have seen it months ago. You’ve been aiming to take her place since the very beginning, you and your traitorous husband. You did this, you took her from me!”

“No, Odin—”

But then the Allfather is gone, sweeping away.

She shakes it off. Between Frigga’s death and Jane’s infection, she can’t take on any more. Odin’s crazy gets forgotten.

Thor wraps an arm around her shoulders, leading her on a strange winding path back towards the palace. Eleanor is too emotionally drained to question their route or to wonder why they are alone. It is not until they reach a heavy wooden wall that Eleanor thinks to be suspicious.

“Where the hell are we?” she asks, glancing around at the unfamiliar and weirdly abandoned section of the city.

“Quiet,” Thor demands, reaching out to knock a specific pattern onto the wood.

The door swings open a moment later to reveal a frowning Fandral. Thor hustles her inside, securing the door behind them as Eleanor settles in a chair at a circular table where Sif, Volstagg, and Heimdall are gathered.

She takes a seat between Sif and Fandral. From across the table Volstagg offers her a piece of jerky, but Frigga is dead and that makes eating difficult so she shakes her head.

“Good. We are all here. Eleanor, I have a plan,” says Thor.

“A treasonous plot is more accurate,” drawls Fandral.

“There is the door!” hisses Sif.

“Oh, do be quiet.”

“Enough!” barks Thor. “Time is of the essence. Stop wasting it. Now, I must inform my sister of our plans for the morning as her consent is critical.”

Eleanor’s eyebrows go way up at this.

“In the days since my mother… since the Dark Elves laid waste to this city, my father has reacted irrationally. He has locked away Jane, closed the Bifrost, and done little to rebuild our utterly devastated defenses. When Malekith undoubtedly returns for Jane with the undefeatable kursed, Asgard will burn and then the universe with it. The only way to prevent this deadly fate is to remove the Aether from Asgard.”

“Okay,” Eleanor says, shrugging. She has no idea what this has to do with her.

“With the Bifrost closed, only the secret paths between worlds will allow for this.”

Eleanor stares blankly.

“Only one knows these inroads.”

And Eleanor gets it.

“Oh, shit.”

* * *

 

“I hate to put you in further danger, Eleanor, but I see no other option, despite the risks involved,” Thor says as they approach the rooms that are both home and prison for Loki. “And there is no way to keep you safe here should the Dark Elves return for Jane.”

“I get it,” she replies, pausing with her hand on the door handle. “And I think you’re right, but Loki isn’t going to like it.”

“I shall need your help convincing him that this quest is our best chance, our wisest course of action.”

Eleanor nods and holds open the door, closing it behind her after following him in to their rooms. Glass crunches under the soles of her shoes and Eleanor freezes as she takes in the destruction in their living quarters.

Not one piece of furniture remains intact and the floor is littered with shards of woods and scraps of torn fabric. Loki leans against the wall next to their bedroom door, legs stretched out in front of him where he sits. One bare foot is bloody and shattered glass at his side is the most likely the culprit.

“Oh, Loki,” Eleanor murmurs. This might be the worst she’s ever seen him, maybe not as bad as when she got him out of the white cells but definitely worse than Stark Tower.

‘Thank you for returning my wife home late,” says Loki, sounding shockingly unbothered. The tone does not match his shattered appearance. “I was not concerned in the slightest. You may go. I prefer to grieve in peace.”

Eleanor looks around at the destruction of his solitary grieving. It hardly seems peaceful.   Violent is a more accurate description, surely.

“I am not here to share our grief,” replies Thor. He is turned away from Loki, talking in the direction of the library directly opposite the bedroom. He seems oblivious to the mess and Eleanor blinks at him in confusion before turning back to Loki, throwing him a puzzled frown. He shakes his head, but Thor’s already noticed where Eleanor is staring and has a moment of realization.

“Loki, enough,” he murmurs. “No more illusions.”

With a humorless chuckle and a wave of his hand, a ripple of magic flows through the room and Thor’s eyes go wide.

“Now you see me, Brother,” says Loki, self-deprecating and exhausted.

Eleanor’s had enough and she picks her way to his side, trying not to break anything further. She slides down the wall to sit next to her husband after clearing the floor of rubble. His head lolls on his shoulders as he blinks down at her.

“Hi,” she murmurs.

“Hello, my dear. Are you about to ask me how I fare?”

She shakes her head and leans forward to examine his foot, wincing when she sees a shard of glass stuck in the drying blood.

“You saw me straight away,” Loki muses. The fatigue is apparent in his tone and Eleanor feels heavy. “Did you simply see through the illusion or were you unable to see my duplicate?”

“I didn’t see any illusion. Just you.” She attempts to get up to collect water and washcloths from their bathroom, but Loki grabs her wrist, pulling her back down to lean against the wall. The movement is shockingly quick, given his current state. He looks like it is taking unprecedented amounts of energy to simply keep his head up.

“Fascinating,” Loki continues. “Our bond is developing new features all the time, it seems. I very much doubt Odin is even able to sense it. This connection is ours now, Eleanor, not the Allfather’s.”

It’s a nice thought but a strange moment to discuss the changing state of their magical bond.

“I’m just going to get a few things to clean you up. And maybe a broom for the floor.”

She frowns out at the destruction, certainly not looking forward to clean up but otherwise unbothered by their broken things. There isn’t any item in this room that she cares about but then her heart sinks.

“My music room?” she squeaks.

Loki rolls his eyes. “Untouched.”

She can breathe again. “I’m getting a broom.”

“No.”

“Loki, there’s glass everywhere.”

“No.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“Damn, woman,” he mutters, snapping his fingers. In a flash everything is repaired and the wound on his foot is cleaned of dried blood. Gone is all evidence of his grief-induced rampage. “Happy?”

Eleanor nods.

“Loki, there is much we must discuss,” Thor says. For a moment Eleanor forgot that he continues to loiter awkwardly by the door.

“Still here, are you?” Loki sneers.

“I am here to offer you a far richer sacrament than grief,” says Thor.

Loki squints at the thunder god, glances at Eleanor, and then goes back to squinting at his brother. “Go on.”

“I know you seek vengeance as much as I do. Help me escape Asgard and I will grant it to you. Vengeance, and after, these rooms.”

“No,” Loki says, closing his eyes once more.

“No? That is all? No!” Thor is thoroughly dumbfounded.

“Without the Bifrost or the Tesseract, there is but one way off Asgard, and that is through my guidance. Where I go, Eleanor goes. And I will not subject her to this.”

“Loki—” Eleanor tries to persuade her husband to at least hear Thor out.

“No.”

“At least listen!” she insists.

Loki sighs, turning his head to glare at his brother. “Apparently, I need to at least listen.”

So Thor shares his plan to keep the Dark Elves from Asgard by bringing Jane to Svartalfheim. When Malekith inevitably catches up with them, Thor will allow him to draw the Aether from her veins, saving her life. At this moment of transfer, he’ll bash it up with his hammer.

The whole thing sounds rather farfetched to Eleanor, but she was sold on the somewhat suicidal plan the moment Thor said “the only way to save Jane.”

“Even for you, Thor, this is an atrocious plan.” Loki makes no move to get up and his brother sighs, dragging over a recently repaired chair to sit facing them. Eleanor watches silently, braiding her hair and nibbling on her lower lip.

“It is the only plan, brother. What would you suggest we do?”

“I am but a lowly prisoner. My opinion has no value.”

Eleanor rolls her eyes.

“Loki! You try my patience. This is the all-consuming evil of Eleanor’s dreams. Be serious.”

“Asgard, even in ruins, even with all defenses stripped away, is safer than the four of us committing treason and tromping off to Svartalfheim,” Loki says, letting his head fall back against the wall. He closes his eyes.

“But if they return thousands will be slaughtered. There is no killing the kursed, Loki, as you well know. The reports from the dungeons where this beast infiltrated our defenses are sure to match what you yourself have read in those books,” Thor says, eyeing the tower of tomes stacked next to the couch.

“I care not if all the Aesir perish.” Eleanor winces because this is most likely the truth. “So long as my wife is safe. And she is safe here.”

“I care if the Aesir get slaughtered,” Eleanor says.

Loki sighs. “Fine. Apparently I am being required to care about the people who call me monster. But I still will not risk your life, Eleanor.”

“If the universe dies, so dies Eleanor!” Thor booms, leaping to his feet. His chair falls backwards and Loki chuckles. “She will be safer with us on the Dark World. Malekith cares only for the Aether. One small woman will be beneath his notice when we hand it over to him on a silver platter. He will ignore her on the Dark World, but here, where he will be forced to slaughter his way to Jane, Eleanor could easily perish in the next attack.”

Thor is making an awful lot of sense to Eleanor. Loki clenches his jaw, obviously annoyed by his brother’s rational argument.

“This might be the only way to save Jane,” Eleanor murmurs, pleading with her husband. This is the only argument that matters, as far as she is concerned, even if Loki would not agree.

He says nothing, simply glancing back and forth between Eleanor and Thor before closing his eyes and resting his head against the wall once more. “You have no way of knowing if you will be able to destroy the Aether.”

“It is our best chance.”

“How will you smuggle me from this prison unseen? Or Jane? I imagine she is much more heavily guarded,” Loki says, opening his eyes again to glare properly as he comes up with a new round of arguments.

“Jane is my concern, Brother. Leave it to me to get us safely out of the city. All you must focus on is our transport to the Dark World.”

Eleanor closes her eyes and lets her head fall back against the wall because she knows that was very much the wrong answer.

“’No, Thor, you mindless oaf!” Loki hisses. “You are asking me to drag my wife into the unknown, into certain death. To make her a traitor! To turn Odin completely against us. So no, Brother, I will not be leaving anything to you. If we do this, we will do so flawlessly and you, great fool that you are, are incapable of flawless.”

Thor pouts, obviously offended.

“Now, tell me. How do you plan to distract the Einherjar long enough to slip away undetected!”

“Perhaps I can assist in this.”

All heads turn to watch Bragi himself stroll in from the balcony, wearing nothing but a scaly, red loincloth, strutting as if this is the most normal of circumstances. His pale skin is covered in soot and he messes with his beard.

“Holy shit,” says Eleanor, gaping up at her bio-daddy. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“I was detained,” Bragi replies, frowning. “My apologies. There was a slight miscommunication involving some gambling debts on Muspelheim. Not to worry. All taken care of now.”

Loki is up and moving, his stride powerful. Where a moment before he looked barely able to hold up his head, now he storms across the room in a way that reminds Eleanor of how he was in the bunker, barely containing his rage and need to hurt.

The back of Loki’s extended hand connects with Bragi’s jaw and his other fist hits Bragi squarely in the gut. The sperm donor does not fight back as Loki pushes him back into a walk.

“Did you know!” hisses Loki, his forearm pressed into Bragi’s throat. The song god’s eyes bulge out. “Did you know they would come here? That this is the someplace safe I would surely bring my wife?”

“Wife?” Bragi gurgles as Loki’s arm pushes against his throat.

“Did you know what would happen to _her_?” he demands.

“Loki,” Eleanor says, getting up to tug on her husband’s elbow. He doesn’t notice.

“You were at the start of this, you criminally negligent barbarian. You abandoned your daughter again, with no instruction, no guide. I see no reason to allow you to go on existing.”

Loki is scary and cold. As much as he’s changed in the last six or so years since she first met him in that club, there is a mercilessness about him, a rage that will never truly go away.

Under normal circumstances Eleanor can handle it, can help him handle it, but now she is tugging ineffectually on his elbow and he doesn’t even notice.

“I loved her too,” Bragi wheezes out, fingers clawing at Loki’s forearm.

In response Loki lets out a desperate growl, full of his anger and his sorrow.

“He spawned me, Loki,” Eleanor says, getting between her husband and her wayward father. “He said he can help and he spawned me. Let’s listen, okay?”

Loki drops his arm from Bragi’s throat.   The God of Song doubles over, coughing and sputtering. Eleanor pushes Loki a few steps back and he glares down at her.

“Brother,” says Thor from somewhere behind them. “We must do this. I know you hesitate to put Eleanor in danger, but Asgard is no longer safe. When the Dark Elves return they will face a disheartened army, a grieving populace, and a vulnerable palace with no working defenses. Please, Loki. No other understands the paths between worlds as you do.”

Loki is back to Bragi, shoving him into the wall once more. At least this time Loki’s hands dig into his shoulders, leaving his neck be.

“You world walk, Bragi,” Loki snaps. “Can you get Thor and Jane to Svartalfheim?”

Bragi hangs his head. “There is nothing on the Dark Would to interest me and as such I have never walked there. I cannot do this. I do not know the way.”

“I will very much enjoy snapping your neck.”

“But I can help!” insists Bragi, glaring up at Loki. At least her sperm donor is brave. Eleanor will give the guy that. “It is a good plan. You must go to the Dark World. I’ve dreamed it.”

“I have had more than enough of your _dreams_!”

“I can help,” Bragi repeats.

“How? Speak now while I still allow you the breath to do so,” Loki says.

“You want the Einherjar distracted and I am a wanted man on this realm.”

“Wanted for what?” Eleanor asks, feeling weary.

“Small gambling infraction. That charge is only a few years in the white cells itself but I’ve foiled custody for centuries, so my punishment will doubtless be much longer.”

“Why would you risk that?” Eleanor asks, struggling to understand.

“It is long past time I did something for you, Daughter.”

Eleanor looks away and leans into Loki because she can’t. Frigga is dead and the end of the world is upon them and she just _can’t_.

“What is your suggestion?” asks Loki. He wraps an arm around Eleanor’s shoulders even as he continues to glare at Bragi.

“I shall dance naked on the rainbow bridge,” Bragi declares, standing up to his full height and proudly puffing up his chest.

Thor lets out a shocked snort and Eleanor frowns at the image.

“Given your attire you are very nearly there,” Loki says, stepping back.

“Loki.” Thor sounds nervous. “What say you?”

Loki stares down at Eleanor for a long moment, appearing scared and indecisive and so unlike himself. He holds her a bit too tightly and then sighs heavily.

“When do we start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, that was a rough one. I need to lie down now.
> 
> And I'm trying to move pretty quick through the movie. Another chapter or two should do it. I'll try to post as quick as possible, but my hands/wrists are killing me. Probably because I write too much.


	14. Gone Away World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So more stuff right out of the movie. Don't own that, didn't write it.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> 1st beta: Heather  
> Final beta: Erica

They will start at daybreak, when the guards change their shifts.

The sun will come up – the third sun without Frigga – Bragi will step naked onto the rainbow bridge, Sif will collect Jane, and for the first time in a year and a half, Loki will leave these rooms.

It gives them a few hours to prepare and to rest.

“I feel like we should have we-might-die-tomorrow sex,” Eleanor says, crawling into bed next to her husband. “But I’m just so fucking tired, Loki.”

And it’s not the type of tired a few rushed hours of sleep will cure. Her soul is weary. Her bones are fatigued. If Loki’s expression is any indication, he feels the same.

“Come here,” he says, opening his arms. She curls up on his chest and tries not to cry. “You will obey my every order, Eleanor,” he says, as serious as she’s ever heard him. “If you do not make this one vow I will change my mind and remain stubbornly in these rooms.”

“Okay.” It’s a fair caveat to this whole ridiculous plan.

This situation is so foreign to Eleanor, but Loki’s probably lived a thousands nights like this one. He’s suffered the quiet anticipation before venturing into the unknown or some dangerous battle.

Eleanor is not experienced enough to be frightened, although she knows she should be, so she’ll obey her husband’s every order. His top priority will be to keep her safe, so Eleanor will keep her head down and do what he says.

This is the best way to keep him safe in return. He’ll get himself killed playing the protector, so she’ll stay as safe as possible given the fucking cracked situation they are about to put themselves in.

“Okay,” Loki repeats. “Yes. Good. I love you, Eleanor. Most ardently.”

She smiles against the skin of his bare chest.

These words are still a risk to Loki, whispered like a secret, and Eleanor is thankful for them now even if this utterance is probably not a good sign.  It is rare for him to say these words at all and is unprecedented for him to say them first. Their chances of surviving unscathed have to be nonexistent for Loki to say them first.

“I know,” she says. “I love you.”

He hums in response and Eleanor can hear the rumble in his chest.

“Tomorrow, do not think of Mother. There will be time enough to mourn after. Do not think of her and do not think of your sorrow,” he advises. “Try to pretend as if it did not happen, as impossible as that is.”

“Okay.” It seems like sound advice that Loki’s never been particularly good at following himself.

* * *

Eleanor doesn’t think she sleeps, but when she opens her eyes Loki is gone and the sky is just starting to lighten up.

A few hours of sleep did nothing to rid her of this numbness. Somewhere deep down she must be panicking but she can’t feel it. Her emotional shutdown is probably a positive.

Rolling out of bed – for what might be the last time – is shockingly easy, and she gets ready methodically, brushing her teeth and then braiding her hair around the crown of her head before pulling it back into a bun.

It could be the beginning of any day, except when she gets to the closet she does not select a green dress.

Instead she pulls on tight black leather pants over her underwear. Next is a tunic, also black, and a jerkin – black with green stitching – that has a collar just like Loki’s. The whole black get up fits her like a second skin and is plated with golden metal. It was a gift from Frigga – they are not talking about Frigga, they are not thinking about Frigga – but Eleanor never thought the beautifully crafted armor would see any action.

Securing the golden metal plates up her arms and down her legs is trickier and Eleanor is thankful for Asgardian ingenuity because the weight of all of it comes to just a few extra pounds.

She swings her arms around and feels like a bad ass as she walks out to the main room, trying to not think of Frigga and working on not freaking the fuck out.

“Finally,” says Loki when she emerges. He groans dramatically and it’s been a long time since Eleanor’s seen him in the full-on armored getup, not since he met with Odin when they first got here a year and a half ago.

“You should have woken me up,” Eleanor says, shuffling in her boots and feeling awkward now that Loki is smirking at her, eyes slowly dragging up her frame. His expression is mischievous and shocking to Eleanor. She hasn’t seen him smile like this since before that thing that they are not thinking about happened. “Are you okay?”

Loki laughs, light and free. The sound makes Eleanor jump and she doesn’t even respond when he kisses her quickly.

“You are stunning in such attire.”

“Is it on right?” Eleanor asks, suddenly self-conscious. “I’ve never worn this full armor before. Just the heavier, practice thing Sif makes me put on.”

Loki chuckles again, running his hand over her shining, new armor. The golden plates are engraved to match Loki’s.

“You’ve assembled it correctly.” He murmurs the words against her lips and her eyes flicker shut as he kisses her.

It’s almost too much given all that is going on, but he tilts her head back and Eleanor gives in, choosing for a moment to forget about the thing they aren’t thinking about, and the crazy-as-all-shit situation they are putting themselves in to save the universe, and the fact that Loki is being all weird and smiley.

“Loki!” Thor shouts from the entryway. Eleanor jerks away, blushing and dropping her gaze to the floor. “Remove your lips from my sister. It is time.”

“Excellent!” Loki replies, basically skipping on over to the thunder god. It seems unnatural and shocking. Eleanor struggles to keep up with his happy mood.

He is doing a much better job ignoring his grief than Eleanor.

Thor hands over what seems like an unnecessary number of knives and daggers. Loki hides them away in the layers of his armor with well-practiced movements before beckoning Eleanor over.

“Pay attention now, my love,” Loki says, slipping two knives into hidden sleeves at her sides and one at her ankle. He secures a familiar sword, light and skinny, to her hip.

“This is my favorite when I spar with Sif.” She touches the hilt.

“And if all goes according to plan you will never once draw it. But there is no sense in bringing you into the unknown unarmed.”

She nods dumbly.

“Quickly now,” Thor says, stepping into the hallway.

“Yes, yes,” Loki says, grinning widely and bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Quickly, Eleanor. Quickly.”

Eleanor blinks at the brothers as they stare at her expectantly. “Oh, right,” she mutters when understanding dawns, clearing her throat once. “ _Loki_.” The command tickles. “ _You are no longer confined to these rooms. You may leave. You can also hurt and kill and maim all you want_.”

Loki kisses her soundly and darts after Thor, who is already striding down the hall. Eleanor shakes her head once and hopes that Loki’s giddiness is simply because he is excited to leave these rooms for the first time in over a year and a half, and not because he is on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Eleanor has to jog to catch up.

“This is so unlike you, Brother,” Loki is saying, continuing to grin. He looks over his shoulder to check on Eleanor and she tries not to stare at him like she’s already freaking out, even if his jovial behavior is freaking her out. “So clandestine. Are you sure you wouldn’t just rather punch your way out?”

“If you keep speaking I just might,” Thor replies. He is calm, eyes taking in the so-far deserted halls for anything that might impede their escape. For the first time, Eleanor really sees Thor as the collected older brother to Loki’s obnoxious, purposefully annoying younger.

And it is fascinating.

“Fine. As you wish. I am not even here.” Loki turns into an Einherjar. Eleanor rolls her eyes at her husband’s antics and keeps jogging behind the pair of long-legged gods. “Is this better?”

“Better company at least.”

“Still, we could be less conspicuous.” And now Thor is Sif, while Loki is back to himself. “Ah, Brother. You look ravishing.”

Loki glances at Eleanor over his shoulder. She is unimpressed.

Thor checks himself out. Eleanor has to bite back her laughter and now she is no longer pretending not to freak out. Loki’s mischief brings her calm.

“It will hurt you no less when I kill you in this form,” Thor says.

“Very well. Perhaps you prefer one of your newer companions? You seem to like them so much.” And now Loki is Steve in full on Captain America regalia while Thor is back to Thor. Loki puffs out his chest and gets the jaunty walk down perfectly. “Oh, this is much better. Costume’s a bit much. So tight. But the confidence! I can feel the righteousness surging. Hey, want to have a rousing discussion about truth? Honor? Patriotism?”

Eleanor completely fails not to laugh as they keep sprinting through the palace, and Loki turns around, winking at her as he walks backwards.

“God bless America!” he declares.

Eleanor snorts.

“You have spent far more time with the Captain of America than I, Brother,” says Thor, totally unbothered. “He is your companion, not mine. But I am sure Eleanor is enjoying this change in scenery.”

“Now see here—” Loki is back to himself but Thor is reaching out for him, pushing him back into a column and covering Loki’s mouth. Eleanor hides behind the pair of giants, suddenly nauseous with worry, all good humor lost. “What?” demands Loki when Thor frees him.

Thor nods to a passing pair of guards. Loki gestures for Eleanor to come closer, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. They press on in silence.

* * *

 

“Here comes Sif with Jane,” Thor murmurs as they wait in a hall outside the throne room.

Jane breaks into a run when she spots them and Thor takes a step forward, anticipating a loving reunion. Instead Jane throws her arms around Loki. He blinks rapidly and sniffs like Jane’s odor is offending his nose, but he pats her back.

“Why does your woman embrace Loki, Thor?” asks Sif, sounding like she thinks something smells bad too.

Thor sighs heavily.

“I’m so glad to see you,” Jane says, releasing Loki and moving to squeeze Eleanor. “Both of you.”

Eleanor closes her eyes and melts into her friend. It’s a relief to have an ally here, to have someone else who has never done anything remotely like this before. She frowns into Jane’s hair when she realizes that her friend’s breathing is labored from the little jog down the hall.

A gaggle of guards approaches and Eleanor tugs on Loki’s hand, trying to follow Thor and Jane through a doorway. Before Loki can take a step Sif has her blade to his throat.

“Betray him and I will kill you,” she says.

“Really, Sif? I mean _really_?” Eleanor asks, pushing away the weapon as Loki smirks.

“Remember your lessons, Eleanor. Do not die.” And then the warrior turns, standing between the Einherjar and their escape route. Eleanor wonders how many more there would be without Bragi’s little show on the bridge to distract them.

Loki pulls Eleanor through the doorway and she vows to follow Sif’s advice.

* * *

“I will give you as much time as I can,” says Volstagg, standing at the base of a bizarrely angular ship that crashed into the throne room during the attack. Giant piles of stone litter the hall and Eleanor wonders how many bodies they pulled from the rubble in here.

“Thank you,” says Thor, moving towards the ramp.

Eleanor and Loki exchange a look, equally skeptical about this mode of transportation. They try to follow but this time it is Volstagg stopping Loki with a hand on his chest.

“If you even think of betraying him—”

“You’ll kill me? Evidently there will be a line,” replies Loki, rolling his eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” says Eleanor. “He’s off to save the universe! You people could at least refrain from threatening him!”

Loki laughs and pulls her onto the ship.

* * *

The inside of the alien craft is a dark, enclosed space and Eleanor is immediately uncomfortable. It hardly looks capable of flight and Loki snips at Thor as the thunder god slaps around uselessly at the controls. Eleanor cracks a smile because the gods have never seemed like siblings more than they do in this moment. The bickering is endearing.

Thor somehow manages to power the thing up, even with Loki hovering over his shoulder and offering criticism rather than advice, and Eleanor moves closer to Jane.

In the days since the scientist was imprisoned, her condition has greatly deteriorated. In the strange light of the cockpit she appears deathly pale and she can’t seem to get a good grip on the ridged wall of the ship to keep herself upright as Thor swerves them around, attempting to avoid gunfire.

“Jane?” Eleanor asks, extending a hand.

“I’m fine.”

When Jane’s knees give out a second later, Eleanor catches her.

“I think I just need to sit down,” mumbles Jane, her head lolling on her shoulders.

Eleanor expected this little mission to be full of scary situations, but something about seeing Jane so frail is worse than anything she imagined. With great care Eleanor helps Jane lie down. She curls up in a ball, her head in Eleanor’s lap.

Loki continues to give Thor a hard time as they zoom around, being shot at. Eleanor focuses on stroking Jane’s hair. The repetitive motion helps Eleanor ward off her own hysteria and fear.

“Oh, there is Bragi. Naked as promised. Eleanor, there is your father,” says Loki, pointing through the narrow slit in the metal that forms the windshield.

“Why did he have to be naked?” she asks.

“An excellent inquiry, my wife. He seems to be enjoying it. Now he dances.”

Thor jerks the controls suddenly, trying to avoid being fired upon from gun turrets. Eleanor closes her eyes, matching her breathing to the rhythm of her fingers in Jane’s hair. It’s the only way to stay calm.

 _"_ You know, this is wonderful,” Loki snaps. Sometime in the last few moments while Eleanor was attending to her best friend, her husband switched from gleefully critiquing Thor’s piloting to genuine anger. She gets to her feet and peers behind them at the many ships converging to chase them down. “This is a tremendous idea. Let’s steal the biggest, most obvious ship in the universe and escape in that. Flying around the city, smashing into everything in sight so everyone can see us. It’s brilliant, Thor! It’s truly brilliant! If Eleanor is harmed I will—”

Thor pushes Loki out of the ship, a side door opening suddenly, and Eleanor lunges forward, panicking for a moment.

“Oh,” says Thor, frowning down at Eleanor. “He annoyed me so and I forgot that he would need to take you while I have my hands full with Jane.”

Wind rushing in her ears, Eleanor peers out of the craft to see Loki crumpled in the bottom of a boat that speeds across the surface of the water beneath them.

“I can jump,” Eleanor says. “Sif made me jump off things. Nothing moving. But I can jump.”

Somehow Thor is next to her, with Jane in his arms. “Then do so, Sister.”

Eleanor takes one last big breath and does so. She even remembers to roll when she lands, hitting the bottom of the boat and ending up flat on her back.

“Eleanor?” Loki shrieks, as panicked as she was a moment ago. He helps her to her feet as Thor and Jane join them.

“I’m fine, sweetheart.”

“You lied to me,” Loki says to Thor, clearly stunned. He pulls Eleanor back to his chest, arms around her waist. “I’m impressed.”

Eleanor giggles, the sound only semi-hysterical.

“Your wife is far more graceful than you, Loki,” says Fandral, chuckling.

“Are you going to threaten to kill him?” Eleanor asks.

“No,” says Fandral. “Why would I do that?”

Loki gapes and Eleanor grins. While the other warriors seem to have only put up with Loki for Thor’s sake, Fandral genuinely liked Loki before everything went to shit. He asks about her husband often.

“I am glad you are pleased,” Thor says, gently placing Jane on a bench at the front of the ship. “Now do as you promised. Take us to your secret pathway.”

Loki takes over the strange steering stick at the back of the boat, turning them away from the city.

Eleanor watches Loki’s face as the wind rips through his hair. He looks alive and happy in a way she hasn’t seen since leaving Midgard.   For the first time in a year and a half he feels free and Eleanor forgot just how beautiful he is like this. Now that he is out in the world once more, the depression, boredom, and unhappiness of his imprisonment is so much more apparent. She got used to him being so sullen and she hates herself a little bit for forgetting just how gloriously alive he can be.

Now the wind is in his hair and he is beautiful.

Even if his smile is a bit maniacal, it is a joy to see him so free.

He pulls up on the lever, taking them to the sky and she squeaks a bit, unaware that the craft was so versatile. The single ship that did not fall for Thor’s ruse with the alien craft is once more shooting at them, but Fandral swings away on a rope, taking care of this final barrier that is attempting to thwart their departure.

Eleanor eyes the fast approaching mountains and tries to brace herself for impact.

“Loki!” shouts Thor, standing protectively over Jane.

“If it were easy everybody would do it,” he replies.

“Are you mad?”

“Possibly.” Loki grins at the mountains but than glances at Eleanor. “Come here, my love.”

She scrambles up to do as he says, tucking her face into his chest as they plunge full speed into a narrow crack in the mountain. Loki shields her face from the sparks that fly out as the metal of the hull scrapes against rock. Eleanor peeks out in time to see the rippling of white energy and green magic. In a second the pitch black of the mountain is replaced with the dreary grey-green sky and craggy, dead earth.

“Ta da!” Loki sings as the ship levels out.

Eleanor’s relieved laughter sounds strange as it rings out in the haunting and barren landscape of Svartalfheim.

* * *

Eleanor did not anticipate the boredom.

In her head, the moment Loki got them to the Dark World, Malekith and his cursed rock monster would descend upon them, sucking the poison from Jane’s veins and saving her life. Eleanor would pull Jane to safety, letting Loki and Thor deal with the remaining enemies and they’d be back on Asgard for dinner.

Instead, they float around aimlessly. Loki wants to find the ancient site of the battle where Grandpappy Bor claimed (falsely) to have killed all the Dark Elves. With Malekith’s ability to find the Aether – or to get damn close, as he couldn’t figure out Jane’s specific location, just the general vicinity – it doesn’t really matter where they end up.

But Eleanor just wants to fucking get there already.

She is twitchy with nervous energy but has nowhere to go, so she paces around the small deck of the skiff, biting her lip and glancing nervously at a resting Jane on every pass.

“Eleanor.”

At the soft murmur from the thunder god her footsteps falter, but only for a moment. The sound of her boots moving on the deck is the only thing keeping her sane.

Thor sits at the bow of the skiff, Jane’s head in his lap. Her breathing is shallow and labored. The sound compounds Eleanor’s stress and her pacing gets a bit more frantic in the too-small space.

“Eleanor,” Thor repeats. “You must calm yourself. It may be many hours yet, before the arrival of our enemy. Jane needs peace.”

“Jane needs this shit out of her before she dies!” Eleanor replies, her voice breaking.

Jane grumbles, but sleeps on. Thor’s hand curls in her hair, his eyes wide with fear. He scowls at her for a moment before looking out at the grey-green landscape.

“Eleanor, come here.” This time it is Loki requesting something of her and she willingly goes to him, joining her husband at the helm where he continues to pilot them to nowhere.

“It’s been hours, Loki,” she complains, coming to stand between his knees. Stillness is not an option, so she bounces in place.

“I know,” Loki replies. His hands leave the oddly shaped steering stick to cradle her face and she finally stops moving. “This will take time, Eleanor. And we do have time. Jane will endure for several more days.”

She’s not sure if she can trust him to be honest about this. She listens to Jane’s breathing and decides that he is lying. “Days?”

“I doubt our wait will be near that long. The Convergence is fast approaching.”

“But—” Loki’s lips are on hers and for a moment she fights his touch, but kissing Loki is a far better use of her energy than pacing around the too-small deck of the too-small craft. He soothes her panic and she whimpers, pushing close to get her arms around him. She burrows under the layers of leather and his hands tangle in her hair, anchoring her, keeping her from completely succumbing to her hysteria.

When she no longer feels like she is on the verge of sobbing, she pulls back. Loki rests his forehead against hers and she knows this feeling of safety is an illusion, but she leans into it anyway, just as she leans into him.

“I’m scared,” she whispers.

Loki strokes her cheek and gives her a sad little smile. “I know.”

“I don’t want Jane to die. She can’t die.”

“She will not. But if she dies then we will die also, for the whole universe will be destroyed.”

Eleanor laughs. “That’s comforting.”

“Would anything comfort you at this point?”

“Your kissing certainly did a good job.”

He kisses her a bit more.

“I can’t see anyone else I love die, Loki.” She closes her eyes and fails to pretend that Frigga is still alive and well and waiting for them to return.

“I will do everything in my power to prevent that from happening.”

It is the most honest he can be, given the circumstances. If he assured her that everyone would live happily every after, she’d call him a liar.

“It should be me,” she says as Jane wheezes at the front of the skiff. “It was supposed to me. I could handle it. We’d have more time to come up with a better plan. It should be me.”

“It should not be either of you!” Loki snarls, jerking back to glare at her and then glare at Jane and then glare at his brother. “I have no patience for misplaced blame. This is not your doing, Eleanor, nor Jane’s. It should not be either of you. Blame the _elf_.” And now he glares around at Svartalfheim.

“Hear, hear,” Thor concurs.

Eleanor nods and tucks herself into Loki’s side, pushing her nose into his neck and closing her eyes.

“I love you,” she says.

“Yes. As I love you.”

He goes back to idly piloting the craft to nowhere, searching out an ancient battlefield that they don’t even really need to find.

Eleanor settles against him on the bench, holding him as if his solid presence is the only thing keeping her from floating away.

* * *

“Trust!” Her husband’s pained demand rouses her from sleep and she blinks rapidly, trying to get her bearings. “Was that her last expression? Trust? When you let her die!”

“What help were you, in your rooms?” booms Thor.

“Who put me there?” Loki is screaming now, on the verge of hysteria. “Who put me there!”

Eleanor is wrapped around Jane Foster, spooning the shivering, ill scientist. They are on Svartalfheim. It is darker now, night, although it is difficult to tell on this dreary realm.   There is brown hair in Eleanor’s mouth.

She spits it out, listening to the brother’s fight, blaming each other for the death of their mother rather than consoling one another. While they told Eleanor a few hours ago that she must blame the elf, here they are, blaming each other for what happened to Frigga.

Eleanor lifts her head in time to see a scuffle, Thor attacking Loki, pushing him back and down at the back of the boat. For once her husband is passive, allowing his brother to pin him down, and a moment later Thor stops.

“She wouldn’t want us to fight,” he says.

When Loki smiles, he looks like a little boy, lost and hurt and lonely. The expression hurts her heart. “Well she wouldn’t exactly be shocked,” he replies.

Thor chuckles, his shoulders relaxing as he backs away from his brother. “I wish I could trust you. Fully trust you. As I once did.”

Eleanor’s heart breaks a bit more. She wants to tell her husband that she trusts him fully, trusts him to do his best in these impossible circumstances. He looks at her and she is positive that in this moment he can see her thoughts, written clearly on her face. He looks at her, and he knows.

“Trust my rage,” he tells his brother.

Somewhat disappointed that she slept through most of the fight, Eleanor settles back down for a few more hours of uncomfortable sleep, wrapped around the wrong person.

* * *

Eleanor wakes again and it becomes clear that Thor is antsy to reclaim his former seat with Jane at the bow of the skiff. She gently extracts herself from her sleeping friend, climbing over Jane and shaking the sleep from her arm. The pins-and-needles feeling makes her wince.

Jane blinks up at her with nearly black eyes, frowning and shivering. “Ellie?”

“Sorry, Jane.”

“S’ okay.” Her voice is slurred, either with sleep or the poison curdling in her veins.

“Go back to sleep,” Eleanor says.

Jane tries to nod but only manages a violent shiver and Thor immediately takes Eleanor’s place, somehow fitting himself in the bow as he curls himself around the shaking scientist. He covers her with his red cape and she shuffles closer to his massive frame.

Eleanor tries not to cry as she makes her way back to Loki.

She settles at his side as she did yesterday, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Is it morning?” she asks.

“Yes. It is difficult to say on this abysmal realm, is it not?”

“So we’ve been wandering around for a day?”

“Twenty-six hours, eighteen minutes.”

Eleanor groans.

“Fandral fully stocked this craft. You should eat something,” he says.

“ _You_ should eat something. At least I got a few hours sleep. Did you sleep?”

Loki’s silence is answer enough.

Sighing heavily, Eleanor clings to her husband. She thinks about trying to sleep again, but then Jane speaks.

“If we fail, what will happen?” She is quiet, her voice raspy and strange. She sounds like an ancient smoker. Her eyes are black, dead like the dead eyes of Malekith that stared through Eleanor as he threatened to kill Frigga.

“We will not fail, Jane,” Thor says, hiding his face in her hair. “You will survive this unharmed.”

“No, not me.” She looks at Loki with dead eyes. Her hands fist in the fabric of Thor’s cape and oh, how they shake. “If Malekith gets the Aether out of me and you can’t destroy it. What happens to the universe?”

“Using the Convergence, he will extinguish every star, every fire, every light bulb, the life source of every realm simultaneously,” Loki replies. “The lucky souls will be touched by the Aether and it will burn them out of existence. The rest will go slowly; starvation, exposure, and the like. From the fires of Muspelheim to Midgard’s precious sun, all will be gone. Even the Jotunns rely on the meager rays of light that trickle down to their frozen world.”

Eleanor’s heart pounds in her ears. She holds Loki tighter, pressing her forehead into his shoulder.

“So why don’t we run away? Avoid him until after the Convergence passes?” Jane asks, wheezing.

“You will not last,” Loki says, shrugging.

“But—”

“No arguments, my dear Madame of Science,” Loki says before Thor can fly into a rage and Eleanor can protest. “Without the Convergence he will be forced to venture from realm to realm. Waiting until it passes will simply delay his plans, not ruin them entirely.”

“And we will not allow you to perish, Jane,” Thor says, sitting up now.

“Loki,” croaks Jane. “You at least need to consider my plan. Even if it kills me. For the greater good, we should run from him.”

“No. If you die it will infect Eleanor and that is unacceptable. Enough with the martyr routine. Save your strength,” says Loki.

Jane glares for a moment before understanding that she is out-voted. The scientist seems relieved that no one is on board with her suicide plan as she turns to hide her face in Thor’s chest.

Her ragged breathing slows slightly and Eleanor hopes her friend is resting comfortably.

“Thank you, Brother,” murmurs Thor.

Loki nods and fingers the wispy hair at the back of Eleanor’s neck.

* * *

Two hours later they spot a dark speck in the distance, barely visible through the thick, grey atmosphere.

Half an hour after that, they hide the skiff, climb a hill, and crouch behind a rocky outcropping to watch the elven ship – tall as a skyscraper and just as wide – land in the valley below.

“Malekith,” murmurs Jane as the elf himself exits his craft with the rock monster and seven faceless minions.

Seeing them, Eleanor burns with hate. It is unlike anything she’s experienced before. She decides that this violent emotion is preferable to the alternative of quaking, cowering fear, and in this moment she understands Loki a bit better.

Malekith catches sight of them on their rocky hill and the party of elves stops, watching and waiting.

“Are you ready?” Thor asks a very unsteady Jane.

Loki rounds on Eleanor so quickly she squeaks out her surprise, the sound something that would deeply shame Sif given she is about to march into her very first battle. He takes her face between his palms, holding her gaze for a moment before moving his lips to her ear.

“Do not believe anything you see here,” he says. “Not a thing.”

Eleanor’s answering nod is cut off abruptly when his mouth meets hers. He kisses her soundly, desperately, before pulling away and immediately sticking a dagger in his brother’s gut.

* * *

Eleanor struggles to keep an Aether-free Jane on her feet as she watches seven faceless elf minions surround her husband and she thinks on the miserable failure that was Thor’s plan.

The first part went well and the brothers successfully acted out a betrayal that culminated in Loki dramatically cutting off Thor’s hand, declaring himself Loki of Jotunheim, and giving Malekith Jane in exchange for “a good seat from which to watch Asgard burn.”

Convinced of Loki’s evilness and Thor’s defeat, Malekith drew the Aether from Jane’s veins. Eleanor watched from behind a nearby rock as fluid black and red sand poured from her friend’s mouth, eyes, fingertips.

The moment Jane crumbled to the ground – confused and weakened, but alive – Loki lifted the illusion that duped the elves into thinking that the God of Thunder was missing a hand.

Thor summoned his hammer and electrified the Aether as Loki threw his body over Jane’s, protecting her from the violent explosion that resulted when Thor blasted the Aether with hammer and lightening.

For a few wonderful moments, Eleanor was hopeful, but then the dust settled and it became clear that Thor’s plan was a miserable failure.

Malekith absorbed the Aether and escaped in his ship, leaving Thor to get beat up by the cursed rock creature responsible for his mother’s death, Eleanor to hold up Jane, and Loki to square off with the remaining faceless minions.

Loki glances briefly at Eleanor before his eyes dart from minion to minion, calculating, planning his attack.

“Cover your ears,” Eleanor says, letting go of her friend, relieved that Jane finally manages to find her feet.

She lifts two fingers to her neck and calculates pitch based on the massive size of the elves’ ears before letting out a piercing shriek that has all the remaining minions staggering, desperately trying to cover those massive ears. She is only capable of maintaining the scream for a few seconds, but Loki seizes the opportunity. He is a deadly blur and in a few heartbeats all the minions lie dead at his feet.

“I did not require your assistance,” he mutters, pouting and rubbing his ears.

“I know,” Eleanor replies, grinning. “But I sure made it easier.”

Loki returns her grin for a moment before Thor’s grunts from twenty yards away garner his attention. Jane comes to stand at her side as they watch Loki sprint towards his brother.

Thor is losing – spectacularly – to the rock beast and Jane squeezes Eleanor’s hand, but Loki gets there before the creature can strike the killing blow to the God of Thunder. He guts the enemy, sticking him with a spear that pierces the creature through and through.

And then, somehow, the spear is also piercing Loki, through and through.

And then, somehow, Eleanor is staring up at the polluted green clouds of Svartalfheim, gazing at the sky.

She does not understand how her view changed so drastically or why breathing is suddenly so difficult. Her hands are pressed into her abdomen for no apparent reason and suddenly Jane is filling her vision, blocking out the sky.

“Eleanor! Oh, god, Ellie, are you okay?” Jane is tugging on her arm.

“Why am I on my back?” she asks. Her own voice sounds realms away.

“You have to get up!” Jane manages to pull Eleanor into a seated position. “You have to get up. Come on. Come on!”

She has no memory of getting to her feet, but Eleanor is running, running, _running_.

“I’m sorry,” says Loki. She isn’t close enough to hear and she is still running to get to him, but his desperate pleas for forgiveness ring clear in her head. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” replies Thor. “It’s alright. I’ll tell father what you did here today.”

“I didn’t do it for him. Where is Eleanor? Eleanor?”

She runs faster, her body recognizing the importance of speed even as her mind fails to process what is laid out before her, but it isn’t enough. By the time she is falling to her knees at her husband’s side, Thor is screaming, howling, grieving, and Loki is gone.

Loki is gone.


	15. The Dead Keep It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. The ending of that last one! Painful stuff. 
> 
> I love you very much for reading this bad boy.
> 
> Big thanks to my superstar betas!  
> 1st beta: Heather  
> Final beta: Erica

She kneels in the dirt, squinting at her husband laid out before her. Gravel digs into her knees but she doesn’t feel it, nor does she notice the blowing dust pricking her cheeks or Jane examining her torso, looking for wounds that do not exist.

Wind howls in her ears and when Thor’s face fills her vision, she stares with wide eyes as his mouth moves. She cannot hear any words. His cheeks are wet with tears and Eleanor does not think she’s ever seen someone cry so pretty.

Eventually he seems to come to a decision without Eleanor’s input, turning back to Loki where he lies, grey and lifeless and bloodied before her.

Eleanor is blank, unable to comprehend or think or feel. She breathes, but barely.

Still not processing the sight before her, Eleanor stares as Thor folds Loki’s arms over his chest, placing daggers in his hands. Thor rips his red cape from his back to cover Loki from head to foot, obscuring the lifeless, grey face of her husband.

And it is wrong. Horribly, sickeningly wrong.

Loki hates the color red and suddenly her chest burns. Her limbs quake. Fisting her hands in the gravel at her sides does nothing to keep her from shaking.

She feels sick, as if she is barely keeping her bones from shattering. This pain is physical and she needs to find her voice, to demand that Thor remove all that red covering her husband, but she is mute.

From her position kneeling on the ground she sways, clenching her jaw to keep from vomiting all over Loki. Her chest is liquid fire and the little whimper that gets past her closed mouth is lost in the wind. She is dying, the burning in her chest intensifying and spreading. She will be nothing but ash on the wind.

But then she is fine. There is no pain, only numbness, and she thinks she imagined the feeling.

Thor and Jane are talking to her again. She hears only wind and the beating of her own heart. The pair shares a concerned look and confers for a moment before Thor hauls Eleanor to her feet.

She goes willingly, passively, but without her godly brother-in-law propping her up, Eleanor’s knees give out and she finds herself kneeling in the gravel again.

Thor lifts her once more, this time pulling her into his arms. She clings to his neck, coveting his warmth and watching, fascinated, as tears flow freely down his cheeks. Eleanor’s face remains dry.

A storm rages around them and they are going somewhere, struggling to move against the wind. They are leaving Loki grey and lifeless and covered up with red, draped in the wrong color.

Eleanor stares at the bright red, the color stark and bizarre against the barren, dark landscape. She stares until the dust storm is too thick and the burn in her eyes is too great.

She hides her face in Thor’s neck and doesn’t understand anything.

* * *

 

Thor and Jane allow her to collapse in a heap the moment they find shelter in a dank cave. Her legs aren’t working. Her heart isn’t working.

They scaled a mountain of gravel while a windstorm raged around them, so Eleanor should feel some relief that they were able to find shelter. Instead, she feels nothing.

“It’s good.” The harsh voice that fights its way out her dry throat does not sound like her own, but Thor and Jane are blinking at her, confused by these words, so she must be the one talking. “It’s good. I mean, if it was the other way around, if I died and Loki…”

The phrase gets stuck in her chest and Eleanor can see him there without even closing her eyes, gaping hole beneath his ribs, eyes closed, skin grey, his Jotunn runes etching themselves onto his skin as he reverts to his true form in death.

She digs the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to unsee his end.

“It’s good, it’s good,” she chants, rocking on the ground and keeping her eyes shut. “It’s good. If it was opposite, if it was me with the, the, the—“

“Eleanor.” Jane’s hand is on her shoulder. She barely notices.

“If it was me with the hole right through my chest, he’d destroy everything. He’d burn down worlds. And I won’t do that. I won’t do that. I can’t do that but I wouldn’t, even if I could.”

“Eleanor!” Jane pulls her hands from her face, shaking her until she opens her eyes. “We don’t have time for this.” Jane is crying. Why is Eleanor not crying? Her husband is dead and Eleanor should be crying. “We, _you_ , can’t mourn him yet. You can’t get hysterical. Malekith is going to end everything. There will be no more light, Eleanor. No suns. No stars. We can’t mourn him yet.”

Eleanor nods but can’t get her legs under her. Jane and Thor are arguing about something, discussing the end of the universe and no more light and no more anything.

In an abstract way, Eleanor does not want everything to end. Logically, she knows that they are in a very bad situation here, but all her senses are muted, including the ones that should currently be panicking.

Loki is... not here, and if she allows herself to feel the weight of it she will never be able to stand and exit this cave.

Shock is doing funny things to her ears because she hears jarring hip hop, music she’s missed during her year spent on Asgard with their limited, stodgy musical tastes.

Loki hates hip hop as he hates most things.

 _Hated_. Past tense. Loki _hated_ hip hop.

“It’s not me,” says Thor, as if there was ever any doubt.

Jane pulls a phone from her coat pocket and answers, speaking to someone named Richard. From her spot at the mouth of the cave, Eleanor blinks.

Jane on a phone in a cave on the Dark World so soon after Loki’s… what happened to Loki is beyond Eleanor’s comprehension.

_Do not believe anything you see here._

Those were some of the last words her husband spoke to her, just before he kissed her for the last time and left her on the crest of that rocky hill to watch him stab his brother. Jane shrieked in horror but Eleanor followed Loki’s advice and did not believe anything she saw there.

Until he was run through with a giant spear.

Suddenly there is doubt. Thor didn’t give her enough time with the body, with Loki, but when he started to turn a dull, grey, _dead_ blue and she saw the runes, she believed that.

But shouldn’t she feel different? Beyond the shock and grief and fucking gut-wrenching pain, she is woefully unaltered.   And maybe that would be expected if she watched any other loved one take their final breaths, but this is Loki. They are bonded.

Was there a strange moment when she ended up on her back? Did it feel like she was burning from the inside out? She can’t recall the details of the last hour or so since Loki fell, just the knowledge that he is gone.

Has it only been an hour? Has it been days?

Now she struggles to clear her mind and analyze her insides, searching for some proof that the bond is no longer with her.

She remembers when Odin first wrought his magic over five years ago. When they were first bonded, she could feel the connection like it was a living, breathing thing, part of her but also part of him. Back then she could sense him, both his movement and his emotions. Months passed and she got used to living with this extra Loki-shaped piece residing inside her, but it was there even if she could no longer sense him.

Years went by and the nature of the bond changed into something beyond Odin’s control, something profound and truly theirs. Loki could access it. When she was gone from his sight, at Princess Lessons or exploring the capital city, he would brush up against the bond, checking on her, making sure that she was safe. Eleanor could never feel him do this or reach out to him in turn, but it was on her list of things to learn.

Loki was going to teach her.

She closes her eyes, trying to access the bond now, but she can’t find him as she searches inside herself for the connection they’ve shared so long.

But even this doesn’t stamp out this dangerous flare of hope. She’s never been able to find him this way, so why would it be any different in this moment of extreme duress?

Eleanor does not feel any different and if Loki were truly gone then she would be altered. With the bond ripped away, she would be empty.

“Eleanor?” Jane says, tugging on her arm. The phone stays pressed to her ear “Come on. We’ve gotta go. Now!”

“Go?” Eleanor asks, blinking up at her friend. “Go where?”

“Back to Earth. I can get us there. It’s right through here. We need to move now to stop Malekith.”

Eleanor can’t go to Midgard. Loki might still be alive out there somewhere and Earth is definitely more than a few miles away.

“No,” she says. “You go. I’ll be fine here.”

“Fine?” Jane squeaks. “There isn’t anything here!”

“What do you mean to do?” Thor asks.

“I’m… I can’t just leave him here. I’ll… bring him back to Asgard. The body. I won’t be any use on Midgard for this fight anyway,” she says.

“How the hell are you going to get back to Asgard?” Jane demands. “You can’t even stand.”

It takes her a minute and Thor needs to steady her at one point, but Eleanor stands on shaky legs like a goddamn newborn gazelle, raising a defiant chin in Jane’s direction.

“Okay. You can stand. Congrats,” says Jane. She hasn’t stopped crying since Loki. Why isn’t Eleanor crying? “How are you going to get back to Asgard?”

“I’ll use the boat thing we came in on. I know the paths. I have the magic. Loki taught me.” Loki did not teach her to move between worlds on her own, but he did teach her to lie.

Thor looks convinced. Jane looks almost convinced.

“I don’t know, Eleanor,” says Jane. “I don’t like leaving you alone here, given what just happened.”

“Well, you’ll have to. I’m not going Midgard.”

“Eleanor—”

“I can’t leave him. I’m not going to leave him.”

“But—”

“Jane, she has made up her mind. It is for the best. We must depart now. I trust Eleanor to get back safely on her own and if she does not we will know where to look if we manage to save the entire universe,” says Thor.

Eleanor gives him a grateful nod.

“I don’t like this. She’s grieving and a mess.  We can’t just leave her alone. I don’t like it,” says Jane.

“I’m not asking you to like it,” Eleanor snaps. “But I’m not going to Midgard and you are needed there. Go save the twenty-seven realms.”

“Nine,” corrects Thor.

“I’ll be fine, Jane,” Eleanor says again. “As fine as I can be, anyway.”

Jane hugs her for far too long, given that the universe is on the brink of destruction. Thor kisses her forehead.

Despite the break up and the year spent apart, Thor and Jane lace their fingers together before walking to the back of the cave and disappearing in a ripple, off to Midgard. It doesn’t seem possible, but Eleanor wastes no time trying to wrap her head around the fact that Thor and Jane just fucking strolled between realms.

The world outside the cave is bleak and desolate as ever, but the windstorm ended when the thunder god strolled off this realm and onto another, so the descent is much more pleasant than what she remembers of the climb.

She falls twice on the way down, her feet sliding out from under her in the loose gravel, but she is determined to make her way back to his body, to crush this dangerous hope permanently or to find her way back to her husband,

Either way, her answers lie at the base of the extremely steep hill.

She hums to herself as she works her way to the spot where she saw something she does not want to believe. It calms her, keeps the grief at bay, and while she hums she searches inside herself for any sign that the bond is either still in place or missing altogether.

She can’t pinpoint it. Loki never taught her how.

At the base of the gravelly mountain, Eleanor pauses. She hides behind a jagged grey rock, knowing full well that they left Loki just on the other side.

_Don’t believe anything you see here. Don’t believe anything you see here._

Suddenly she doesn’t want to know. She is more comfortable clinging to the possibility that Loki is still here somewhere because if his body still lies in the dirt on the other side of these boulders then there will be nothing for Eleanor to do but shatter.

It takes longer than it should to muster the strength to step around the rocks to get her answer, but when she does it is like watching that fucking monster stab him all over again

There is Loki, laid out in the gravel some fifteen feet from where they left him, except it’s not Loki. There is no Loki. Loki died some two hours ago, run right through with an alien blade as he fought to protect his brother.

Eleanor stumbles, her stomach rolling. She stares at the body that was once her husband and she can’t breathe. She doubles over, supporting her weight with hands on her knees. Falling is not an option. If she lies down in the dirt, she’ll never get up.

Like Loki will never get up.

She curses her own stupidity and the foolish, blind hope that sent her back down the mountain.

But it still doesn’t seem right, that she wouldn’t notice when her connection to him was severed so violently. A profound, immeasurable part of her was ripped out, but she doesn’t feel physically any different.

She recalls the burning and struggles to breathe.

Eleanor straightens, forcing herself to look once more at the body that was once Loki. Something is not right there either.

Before he dragged her away, Eleanor is almost positive that Thor put Loki’s daggers in his hands, crossing his arms over his chest in the same way they placed Frigga in her boat. Thor reverently covered Loki with his cape. All Eleanor could think about was how Loki would hate being swaddled in all that red. It was an inane thought, one of the only semi-coherent ones to clarify through her cloud of shock.

Now the body, _Loki_ , is not covered in anything.

From the fifteen feet separating them, Eleanor can clearly see his pale face and sharp features. The daggers are a few feet away, apparently tossed in dirt. His hands press into the wound.

The hope is back.

Eleanor approaches with great caution, attempting to mentally prepare herself for further heartbreak.

When there are only a few feet separating them, the body that was once her husband raises its head and reaches for a dagger.

“Oh,” it says with obvious relief. “It’s just you. Good. I am in no position to be defending myself.”

Eleanor promptly collapses in the dirt. The tears finally come, two hours and one dead husband too late. She covers her face with her hands, a great release as the numbness finally dissipates and she feels everything that’s happened since arriving here all at once.

She sobs and shakes and wants to reach out for her very much alive husband, but her body is unresponsive. Loki is speaking to her, tone soothing and then concerned, but her own cries drown out his words.

When he reaches out, grazing her knee with his fingertips, she jumps, but it successfully snaps her out of her breakdown. Suddenly not touching him is a travesty and she scoots closer, leaving a rift in the gavel in her wake. She blindly gropes at him until she finds his hands – sticky and hot with his own blood – squeezing with all her meager strength and trying to convince her body that he’s alive, alive, _alive_.

“Eleanor,” he murmurs, thumb stroking her knuckles. “Why do you not open your eyes, my love?”

“Because,” she replies, whimpering. “The last thing I saw was your eyes and maybe I’ve dreamed this all up and when I look at you again you’ll just be a body and I can’t—”

“Eleanor.” His hand comes to her cheek and she opens her eyes.

He’s smiling softly, sadly, and sitting up on one elbow seems to be an extreme effort, but he is very much alive. His skin is pale and perfect, the Jotunn runes hidden once more.

“I am so sorry,” he says and Eleanor loses it again, her sobs returning with such intense violence that breathing becomes nearly impossible.

Loki lies back and Eleanor huddles over him, resting her forehead on his and keeping her eyes open. His cheeks are wet too, and Eleanor cannot tell if these tears are his own or if they are hers, dripping off her face and onto his.

“Breathe,” Loki murmurs, stroking her hair. “Match your breathing to mine. I love you. I’m here and I love you.”

It helps, and eventually Eleanor takes in air somewhat normally, even if her breathing remains harsh and thin.

“You did not cry like this when you thought me dead,” Loki mutters. “You did not cry when I fell nor when you left me here.”

“Yeah, because _that’s_ what I do. When I get upset and terrified and fucking heartbroken, I get loud. Loudness is my defining characteristic!”

“Sarcasm suits you ill, my wife.”

“Wait, you saw us leave? Why the fuck didn’t you say anything? What happened?” she says, lying down on his chest. Loki winces, a little pained cry escaping the firmly closed seam of his lips, and Eleanor sits up, gently pushing aside his jacket. “Oh, Loki.”

He’s managed to stop the bleeding with a piece of cloth that was probably once green. It’s heavy with blood now, and Eleanor peeks under it, horrified by his wound, yet also amazed that it’s not much worse.

“I’m healing,” he explains. “It will take some time.”

“Fuck, you’re not going to die on me again, are you?” she asks, fear clawing at her throat. She tosses aside the bloodied cloth and retrieves Thor’s cape. She folds it as neatly as shaking hands can manage and presses it to the wound.

“No, we are well past the point of that, I believe.”

“You like, really, really got stabbed! How are you not dead? I thought you were dead!” She is getting hysterical and only calms slightly when Loki takes both her hands in his.

“It will be all right, Eleanor,” Loki murmurs, letting his head fall back to the ground. Holding it up was taking too much effort, it would seem.

“But you didn’t die so that means you faked your death and I don’t get why you would to that to me, to Thor.” She thinks about tearing her hands from his, but doesn’t because he is alive and touching her and no matter what he’s up to in this moment, she is weak with relief.

“But I did die,” Loki says, closing his eyes and grimacing. “At least I believe so. I am not sure. The whole thing was rather jarring.”

“I would think so. You were fucking skewered.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Eleanor leans against his side, careful to avoid the gaping wound in his chest. She cradles his face. “What do you mean, Loki? What happened?”

“I died,” he says again. “I… I was ripped from my body and I recall desperately grasping for anything that tethered me here. I thought of you and our short time together and how you would feel to lose me so soon after Frigga.”

Eleanor is crying again, or maybe she never stopped. Loki pauses for a moment, closing his eyes and apparently attempting to collect himself.

“It was very strange as I had no physical form, but I scrambled for something to grip, for anything to hold me here.”

“And then?” Eleanor whispers.

“And then I found it. The thing to tether me to this plane of existence.”

“What?” she says, extremely wary. She is envisioning all sorts of sold-his-soul-to-the-devil-to-not-die scenarios.

“The bond, Eleanor. Do not look so concerned. I found the bond and I clung to it even as it felt as though I was being pulled apart, piece by piece. At some point it began to deteriorate around me, but somehow I willed it to remain. And I held it together. The whole thing was unpleasant.”

“The bond?” she squeaks, remembering how her own chest burned. “Our bond? Is that even possible?”

“Well, _obviously_ ,” he says, rolling his eyes. The irritated gesture makes Eleanor smile. “Here I sit. But I do not know how or why I was put back.”

“I think I felt it. I don’t really know. I was…” She doesn’t have the words to describe what it was like to watch Loki die, nor can she bear thinking about it.

“You are not overly perceptive when it comes to this magic, my sweet. And from what I gather you had gone catatonic. I imagine it was impossible for you to really feel anything in such a state,” Loki muses, wincing as he readjusts slightly.

“My chest burned. I don’t know for how long, but it burned. I think.”

“There you have it then. That was me.”

“And before that. When you first got stabbed, before you died. I fell down. Why did I fall down?”

Loki attempts to shrug, but ends up hissing in pain instead. “I know not. Perhaps that too was the bond? So great was the violence I experienced, that you too felt it. But this is all guesswork. Before this occurred I would have said that none of it was possible.”

“Well, fuck. How? Just…how?”

Loki does his best to shrug, given the extent of his injury. “All I can recall is immense pain, moving at unprecedented speeds, and desperately clinging to the bond, pulling it around me like a protective cocoon. And then I was back in this clearing, listening to Thor insist you move as a storm raged around us.”

“Thor insisted I move?”

“Apparently you were rather unresponsive. I could not see. Some awful red thing obscured my vision.”

Eleanor laughs and once she starts she cannot stop. Hysteria descends once more and it doesn’t take long for her uncontrollable giggling to turn back into sobs. She cries into his neck as Loki makes soothing sounds, doing his best to get his arms around her, despite the pain of his huge-ass puncture wound.

They stay like that for a long time, until Eleanor can breathe again.

“Wait,” she says, sitting upright. “Your freaky little cosmic trip happened in just a few minutes and you were back alive when Thor dragged me away? You didn’t say anything. You let me think you were dead!”

“Eleanor,” he says, trying to appease her before she really gets going.

“You absolute fucking dickhead!” she screeches, hands balling into fists at her sides. “How the fuck could you do that to me, you fucking fucker. You let me think you were dead for two fucking hours, the longest, most painful two hours of my life!”

“I know. And I am truly sorry for it.”

“And what if I’d left for Midgard with Thor and Jane?” she demands.

“Thor and Jane left for Midgard? However did they manage that?”

“I could have killed us both! Trying to go to another fucking world without you. Last time I checked, Midgard was a bit out of our boundary!”

“Eleanor,” Loki says. His tone is patronizing and it makes Eleanor much more angry. “I knew you would figure it out. I had faith in your ability to determine that I lived still.”

“But you died! And then you didn’t die and you just let me go on thinking you did! You fucking asshole. I should fucking kill you all the fuck over again.” She continues to scream, the barren landscape making it sound louder and more severe. It seems to rebound off rocks, amplified to more accurately fix the scope of her fury.

“Eleanor,” Loki says with a sigh. Somehow he manages to push himself into a seated position and the pain that flickers on his face cools her rage, but only marginally. “Would you like to continue with the name calling or perhaps you would rather an explanation for my actions?”

“Fuck your explanations! I can’t fucking believe you did that to me. Who willingly lets their wife think that they died? It’s goddamn cruel, you fucking douchebag. You son of—”

“We’re free!” Loki shouts, his voice echoing through the dead world around them.

Eleanor blinks because this is far from the answer she was expecting.

“Eleanor, we are free. Don’t you see? With me dead, we can go anywhere, be anyone, live any life we want. There is no need to return to the prison that is Asgard. With me dead, we can do anything. Perhaps it will even convince the titan for several millennia. This great danger to you is past, assuming Thor wins, and Thor always wins. We can disappear, Eleanor. We are free.” Loki speaks with barely-contained glee, his eyes wide and hopeful.

“Oh,” says Eleanor, unsure what to think. “Oh.”

“Just imagine it, Eleanor,” he says, vibrating with excitement. There is a mania in his eyes that Eleanor has not seen in a long time. “Just you and me, living anywhere. Name it and I will give it to you. Do you miss your garden? We can go to Vanaheim. It is known for its fertility. I will construct us a house tucked in the mountains and you will garden and make music. Or the sea. You do like the sea. Anywhere you desire, Eleanor. We will be free.”

“Oh,” says Eleanor again.

Loki opens his mouth to keep gushing about his half-cocked plan to disappear into the nine realms but then he is wincing and falling back down. He lands in the gravel with a grunt.

“Damn,” he hisses, touching the wound. His hands comes away bloody and he stares at it for a moment before closing his eyes and bringing Thor’s cloak back to stop the bleeding.

“Loki! Goddamn, it,” Eleanor says, reaching out. Loki is grimacing and Eleanor hates to see him in pain. “What should I do?”

His hand is pressed into the soaked fabric and it pulses green, glowing in slow, steady, beats. “I require your magic, Eleanor.”

“I don’t know how to heal,” she says, the tears starting up again.

“Hush,” Loki murmurs. “Simply place your hand atop mine. I shall do the rest. If you have no objection to me harnessing your power, of course.”

Rolling her eyes, Eleanor lies down next to Loki, resting her head against his shoulder and lacing her fingers through his free hand. She lays her other hand over his, her pale yellow magic pulsing in time with his green, and Eleanor is suddenly, overwhelmingly calm. The sensation is strange, a pleasant tingle. It’s such a small, easy thing to give him, to help him heal. She’d give anything.

Loki’s calm too. His breathing is deep and even, the ripples of magic meeting the steady beat of his heart. His eyes are still closed, but Eleanor stares intently at his face, beautiful and relaxed even from this odd angle.

“I love you,” she murmurs.

The corner of his mouth twitches up. He hums his agreement.

“Fuck,” she says, shuddering as she remembers. “Do I love you. Never, never, never do that to me again.”

“I am sorry, Eleanor,” he replies. “Truly, I am sorry.”

She believes him and she is calm.

“I cannot even imagine what you went through these last few hours, Eleanor,” he says. They are strange words when combined with her tone of pure contentment. The magic warms her hand, so she imagines it feels rather nice for Loki as well. “If it was you, not I who… I could not bear it with any sort of sanity. I would be beyond reason.”

“I know,” says Eleanor. “I babbled about that to Thor and Jane, I think.”

“You think?”

“It’s a bit of a blur now. Shock and grief do funny things to a person.”

“Yet you chose to stay?”

She lifts her hand to the throat and talks with his voice. “Don’t believe anything you see here.”

Loki chuckles.

“And I thought I’d feel different. I might not be very good at noticing our bond, but if you were gone, really ripped away from me, I’d have to notice. Right?”

“Indeed, Eleanor.”

“I had to be sure. Even if it was a long shot, I had to know.”

Loki turns his head to kiss her temple.

“The whole universe might end real soon, you know,” she murmurs. “Are we just going to lie here forever?”

“It’s not wholly unappealing. Is it?”

“It just doesn’t seem right. That the whole universe might end and your brother thinks you are dead. And Jane too. She cried when I couldn’t.”

“The universe will survive,” Loki says. He sounds so fucking sure.

“Oh?”

“Thor will win. Thor will always win and the memory of our former relationship might momentarily pain him, but he will rebound quickly.”

“I very much doubt it,” Eleanor says. “Although it’s nice to hear you have such absolute faith in your brother.”

Loki grumbles, but offers no further comment.

“You really want to fake your death?” she asks.

“Yes. It is a solution to a litany of problems. Frankly, I do not understand your hesitation,” he replies.

“Well, it’s a bit morally ambiguous. You are supposed to be serving a punishment for some very real crimes.”

Loki sighs. “You do not wish me freedom? From the threat of the Titan? From Odin? We are at his mercy, Eleanor, and you know how close he is to ending the whole thing, ending my life. This means freedom, Eleanor. For both of us.”

“What about the bond?” Eleanor asks. “Can’t he sense it? Won’t he know that you’re not dead?”

“The bond is ours now, Eleanor. We’ve altered it and while I believe Odin could still remove it if he saw fit to, he can no longer access it like we can. He will not know.”

This pleases Eleanor. She smiles, closes her eyes, and lets herself drift, soothed by the magic warming her hand and Loki at her side.

“Thor and Jane will simply assume that you were unable to find your way out of here. They will look, but we will be long departed,” Loki says, grinning at the prospect.

And that’s what really does it.

“I can’t,” she says, sitting up. It’s a little awkward and she struggles to keep her hand steady on his. Loki won’t look at her but he is so painfully disappointed, Eleanor almost changes her mind. “I can’t let everyone think I’m dead. Maybe you’re okay with Thor being heartbroken, but I can’t do that to my family. I disappeared on them once before and I can’t do it again. And then Jane and Darcy and Thor, too. I can’t.”

“You can’t,” he says, turning away from her. For a moment it looks like he’s going to remove her hand from his chest, but at the last moment he thinks better of it. “You can’t? There is no other option, Eleanor. Odin will have my head for this, I am sure of it, and if he does not I will surely perish from the boredom of being locked away in those rooms for the remainder of my days.”

She goes quiet, her need to give him whatever he wants because he almost died warring with her guilt over lying to Thor and Jane about something that will cause them both so much heartache.

“Okay,” she murmurs.

His smile is cautious. "Truly?”

“Yeah.”

He moves to kiss her and then lets out a completely undignified squeak when he jostles his wound. Eleanor kisses him instead, relieved that doing so is still an option, overjoyed that he lives.

* * *

She offers to retrieve the skiff and fly it back to him, thinking only of his comfort. He firmly refuses, holding her as tightly as he can manage given his weakened, healing state.

“Just allow me a bit more of your magic and a bit more of your time. We will not be parted again, not in this dreadful place.”

A bit more time stretches into several hours, but eventually the wound closes enough for Loki to sit up and trudge back to the craft without losing any more blood.

It was his heart that caused him to die, if the odd magic that occurred when he was ripped from his body constitutes dying. The spear pierced his heart and he should have died, but when he did not, all his magic went to healing his heart. Before Eleanor returned to him, he accomplished this, and although the damage inflicted to his insides is highly unpleasant, it is no longer fatal.

Now he winces with every step and leans heavily on his wife, but waves off her suggestions that he stop and rest every three paces. Still, it is a relief when they finally reach the relative safety of the skiff. Loki is in no condition to defend them and Eleanor’s skills are entirely lacking. With the skiff, they will at the very least be able to flee in the unlikely event that some enemy happens upon them.

“I would not risk travel between worlds until the Convergence passes. In fact, we should endeavor to move as little as possible. The universe is about to get very strange.” Loki winces as he reaches too far for a flagon of wine that rests in Eleanor’s lap. She glowers and scoots close, until there is no distance between them. For this Loki is thankful.

Despite everything that has occurred in these last traumatizing days, Loki is too exhausted to feel anything but intense gratitude that his wife is beside him, fretting over his healing innards and forcing him to eat.

Simply breathing causes him pain that he struggles to hide from Eleanor. Although he no longer bleeds, his organs are still slowly stitching themselves back together and the sensation is unpleasant.

“How long do you think it will be?” Eleanor asks, taking the wine from his shaking hand when he proves incapable of lifting it to his lips. Too worn down to be embarrassed by his own ineptitude, he accepts the help without complaint and drinks deeply.

“At least another night.”

“Fuck, I hate it here.”

Loki thoroughly concurs.

He forces himself to eat a bit more to help along the healing and then teaches Eleanor how to cast spells of protection on their small craft. Her magic is sloppy and imprecise, but all his power is concentrating on the healing, so it will have to do.

They settle together in the bow of the skiff, waiting for the Convergence to pass or the universe to be destroyed. Eleanor’s hand once more rests over his latest scar, her magic warm and healing.

“I really hate this realm,” Eleanor says again, scowling at the rapidly darkening sky. “The universe might end tomorrow and there are too many clouds to even see the stars.”

Loki loses the fight to keep his eyes open, but her indignation makes him grin. “Did I once show you the stars?” he asks.

“You don’t remember?”

“I find it difficult to determine what is true and what is a dream from that time in my life.”

Against his side, Eleanor shivers. “You showed me the stars in the bunker, once. I liked you that night.”

“I would show you more,” he murmurs, feeling warm and content with Eleanor’s hand on his chest, pleasant memories in his head. “I would take you to every realm, watch your eyes go wide with joy as you take in each and every wonder this universe has to offer.”

Eleanor shifts. He can feel her looming over him and he smiles, pleased by her breath on his cheek, thrilled to be alive to feel anything at all.

“Let’s do it,” says his wife. “Let’s go everywhere. I want to see all my options before choosing where to settle down with our house by the sea or up in the mountains.”

“Oh, yes,” he agrees. “It will be a good life, Eleanor. A very good life.”

He knows that Eleanor’s agreement to his drastic plan was too easy. Her acceptance was borne of duress and relief to find him alive. In that moment, so strong was Eleanor’s joy to find him healing and in pain, but far from dead, Loki is confident that he could have talked her into anything.

Tomorrow, he fully expects that the enormity of Loki’s plan will hit her, undiluted by emotional exhaustion. If the universe does not end while they rest, Eleanor will come to understand that agreeing to Loki’s plan means forsaking all others. Thor, Jane, her family, Darcy Lewis, Tony Stark, Steve Rodgers, and even the Lady Sif will think her dead, and Loki very much doubts Eleanor will willingly cause them more pain.

She will change her mind.

Rather than dwell on all currently standing between them and this life that he wants, he imagines Eleanor’s reactions as she beholds trees triple the size of Midgard’s tallest buildings and great crystal spires found under leagues of earth.

Eleanor strokes his hair and he drifts off, images of a very good life following him into sleep.

* * *

 

 

They very nearly miss the Convergence in its entirety and Loki could have gone on sleeping indefinitely if not for the crash that startles them both out of sleep. They sit up too quickly and Loki groans as pain shoots through his chest.

Eleanor is already on her feet, sword drawn, as Loki scrambles for his daggers.

“I don’t see anything,” she whispers, walking the perimeter of the craft.

They spend long moments in silence, anticipating an attack.

“It came from the other side of the ridge,” Loki says. “Shall we investigate?”

He allows Eleanor to pilot the skiff to the top of the hill where he stabbed Thor. It feels like lifetimes ago. He supposes this is to be expected, as he did die and come back to life between then and now.

Wincing all the while, he settles himself on the bench as near to Eleanor as he can manage. Although much improved, his internal systems remain tender and sensitive to his every movement.

While yesterday he floated in a strange bliss born of relief and joy, elated by the knowledge that he once more evaded death, now in the dim light of what passes as day on Svartalfheim, Loki is left to face the full weight of this most recent trauma.  

The first time he stood on the precipice of death, Loki willingly coveted the end, so desperate was he to cease the suffering, to stop hurting. He let go of Thor on the rainbow bridge and much to his chagrin, survived.

Even now, he cannot understand how.

He once more escaped death but, like the first time, Loki cannot even begin to understand his survival.

This time, he did not want death, but he could not fight his need to protect Thor anymore than he could refrain from protecting Eleanor. Given the opportunity to go back, he would not act any differently, although he would endeavor to avoid that spear.

Beside the physical pain of being run through with a blade, Loki recalls little of the detail, only the feelings. He fought desperately for his life and refused to leave Eleanor, but this does not explain his survival or the sensation of existing only in the context of the magic of the bond.

He would not leave Eleanor nor would he allow the bond to deteriorate, not with millennia of possibilities before them.

Yesterday this success bolstered him but now he is overcome once more by exhaustion and grief, troubled by how very close he came to death, to leaving Eleanor alone. He is no longer able to ward off his mourning for his mother. Thinking of Thor and the great lie Loki now perpetuates is equally sickening.

“Whoa,” says Eleanor, her voice pulling him from his morbid contemplation.

Grimacing, Loki sits up a bit straighter to look out at Svartalfheim, following Eleanor’s gaze.

“Is that...” asks Eleanor.

“Oh, yes.”

Below them lies Malekith’s ship, wrecked and smoldering where it crashed into the side of a mountain.

“Well, that’s got to be a good sign,” says Eleanor. “Right?”

“I would say so. It appears the Convergence has passed and Thor was successful. The universe is not ended.”

The realization should bring relief, but Loki is far too exhausted and far too shaken.

“So it’s really over then?” Eleanor asks, turning to him. There are tears in her eyes. “Like, this horrible thing that has been hanging over our heads for years is actually, really, truly over?”

“Yes, my love. It is over.”

She nods and sniffles, steering the craft down the slope of the ridge, heading towards Asgard. The bliss of last night has left Eleanor as well, it would seem.

“I can’t do it, Loki,” she says, wiping her nose.

He closes his eyes and tries not to reveal the extent of his disappointment.

“I can’t let everyone think I died.”

“What do you suggest we do? I will stay dead, as far as all but you are concerned. Nothing you can say will convince me to give them the truth,” he says.

The fight brewing here will not be pleasant. Eleanor can match him in terms of stubborn resolve when she wants to, and Loki can tell by the set of her jaw alone that this is indeed one of those rare but frustrating times when she refuses to see reason.

“You can stay dead,” she says.

“Excellent. Where would you first like to visit, my love?”

“But,” she says.

Groaning, Loki lets his head fall back to rest on the edge of the skiff.

“But,” she starts again, “we have to go back to Asgard first. We’ll go back to Asgard. I’ll talk to Odin, tell him you’re dead, tell him to tell Thor and Jane that I’m fine. And then we can go wherever you want.”

“Eleanor, we cannot return,” he says. “It is far too dangerous.”

“I don’t care,” snaps his wife. “I’m going back to tell Odin that you died. I’m going to let Thor and Jane and my family know that I’m safe. You might have no problem letting your brother grieve for you, but I won’t do that.”

“I have a problem,” Loki murmurs.

“What?”

“I… I do not want Thor to feel pain at the thought of my loss, as momentary as his mourning may be.”

“Momentary?” Eleanor says, rolling her eyes. “Is that what you are going to tell yourself to ease your guilt at doing this to him?”

As usual, she is completely correct in her assessment.

“Or are you going to start all that crap about how you don’t give a fuck about him again?”

“I put myself between Thor and the creature that murdered our mother, fully understanding the probable outcome of that encounter,” Loki hisses, genuinely offended. “I obviously ‘ _give a fuck_ ’ but he must think me dead. It is the only way.”

Eleanor scowls and refuses to meet his gaze.

It seems Loki was right in his assessment of Eleanor’s fragile mood yesterday. In that state, she would have agreed to anything.

“You knew,” says his wife, her tone quiet and accusatory. “From the moment you agreed to Thor’s plan you knew that you wouldn’t go back to our rooms.”

Loki closes his eyes, dreading Eleanor’s response. “Yes,” he admits.

“By faking your death? That was always your plan?” Her voice breaks by the end and he knows that she is recalling those painful two hours.

“No.” He is pleased that he can be honest about this at the very least. “I thought to use the chaos of the Convergence to cover our escape. I certainly did not intend to die.”

“You could have told me,” she says. “You _should_ have told me.”

“You should have known.”

Eleanor huffs and Loki sits up, suddenly irritated.

“Do you recall our conversation with Odin?” he demands. “When I was brought before him in chains? He gave me one last chance. One final chance before he’d take my head. This was treason, Eleanor, and he may forgive Thor in light of his victory, but he will certainly not give me similar courtesy. Not with Frigga gone.”

Eleanor flinches and looks down. Suddenly she seems small and young and frail. Loki hates himself, for he is the reason she is shrinking so.

“But you can’t tell Thor?” she whispers.

Loki’s answering laugh is cruel, a humorless sound that echoes off craggy, looming rocks. “I love my brother. I admit it. But he is a sentimental fool who will force me back to Odin’s mercy under the false belief that years of living as Odin’s son will protect me. I know my brother and that is precisely why Thor cannot know of my survival.”

“We are going back to Asgard,” Eleanor says. “If you want to stay dead then I am going to tell Odin. He was your father for a long time, Loki, and I am going to tell him before we disappear.”

“Fine,” Loki snaps, having no choice but to agree with his wife’s foolhardy decision. He is asking a great deal from her in continuing this ruse, so he will allow this just as he will keep her safe, no matter the situation they find themselves in when she goes before Odin.

Eleanor pilots the craft back the way they came only yesterday, back to the Realm Eternal.

They fall into an unpleasant silence, the only interruption on occasion when Loki corrects her course. She travels far too fast for his liking. Loki would delay their arrival, as long as possible, but he has no energy to pilot the craft himself.

He will need all his strength to keep Eleanor safe if she truly insists on standing before Odin.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. Back to Asgard. Again.
> 
> One of these days I'm going to give these crazy kids a break. Today is not that day.


	16. And Then There was Nido

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1st beta: Heather  
> Final beta: Erica

“You’ve committed treason,” Loki says they emerge unscathed through the mountain pass. Compared to Svartalfheim, the sunshine of Asgard hurts Eleanor’s eyes and she squints out at the water. “Odin is unlikely to forgive that. It is the very reason I myself must be dead.”

Now that they are so close to the palace, Loki’s attempts to change her mind get more desperate but she won’t hear it. This is the right thing to do and she will not allow anyone to think she’s dead.

“Odin doesn’t really give a shit about me, especially without you,” she says again. “And the universe didn’t end. I’m sure he’ll get over it. Worst case he throws me in jail for a bit until Thor gets back and gets me out. No big deal.”

“No big deal?” Loki sputters.

“It’s this or you stop pretending to be dead,” Eleanor insists. “You pick.”

Loki grumbles and pouts and refuses to talk to her for the remainder of the journey towards the palace. He takes over steering the craft and Eleanor is thankful because fatigue is catching up with her once more.

Despite his stony silence, he directs her head to his lap when she moves to lie down and runs his fingers through her hair as her eyes drift shut.

Sleeping through the Convergence did not leave her feeling rested. The relief and joy of a living Loki is wearing off, letting emotional and physical exhaustion take over. The danger that has plagued them for nearly two years since Bragi appeared with his cryptic dreams is finally gone, but the weight of that is replaced by sorrow and loss.

The leather of Loki’s pants does a terrible job absorbing her tears. She drifts in and out of consciousness until Loki gently shakes her awake.

“We are nearing the city,” Loki says. “You will need to steer us to the docks. I must no longer be visible.”

Eleanor nods but the moment he disappears from her sight she starts to panic. All she can see is Loki, grey and lifeless, her name on his lips and bleeding from the gaping hole in his gut.

“Eleanor.” His breath is her ear, his hands against her cheeks. She takes a deep breath and Loki’s hands travel down her neck then arms before taking her hands and placing them on the rudder.

With a heavy sigh, Eleanor leans back against Loki’s chest, comforted by his solid, real, _living_ weight behind her, and allows him to steer the craft.

“Damn,” Eleanor says when she catches sight of the twenty or so Einherjar awaiting them on the docks. “I was really hoping to go home and shower before getting taken into custody.”

Two craft similar to the one Loki drives with Eleanor’s hand flank them as they slow to navigate the narrow waterways of the city.

“I do not like this,” Loki hisses in her ear.

“Yeah, well me neither,” Eleanor whispers right back. “But it’s too late for anything else now.”

Loki wraps an invisible arm around her waist. Despite his obvious tension, Eleanor is too exhausted to care about the current predicament.

The current predicament that Eleanor insisted upon.

They pull up to the docks and Eleanor scrambles out of the skiff, followed closely by her invisible husband. He keeps a hand on her shoulder.

The Lieutenant Einherjar – head of Odin’s guard – himself is here to greet her.

“Weapons,” he says.

Eleanor dutifully hands over her sword and various other knives Loki stashed all over her body, hidden in her armor. She’s thankful that she never had to draw them. The large pile she produces is somewhat humorous and Eleanor bites back the hysterical urge to laugh.

“We did not expect you to return unaccompanied,” says the lieutenant.

“Yeah,” Eleanor chokes out the word. She is supposed to be a grieving widow. Imagining Loki’s grey skin is enough to close up her throat. “Thor and Jane went to Midgard. I’m assuming they were successful as the universe did not end. I… I have news for the Allfather.”

Loki’s hand tightens on her shoulder. It gives her the strength to lie.

“Follow,” says the lieutenant.

She follows.

* * *

They walk through the city and Eleanor sees the destruction caused by the Dark Elves. Confined to the palace, she did not understand the scope of the devastation, but she gets it now.

In the few days since the brief invasion, nothing has been done to begin the cleanup and people huddle close to open flames to stay warm. Poverty has never been an issue on Asgard, and now it is a shock to see the homeless.

“What’s being done to help those who lost their homes?” Eleanor asks the lieutenant.

“Nothing as of yet, Princess.”

“No shelters? No assistance from the crown or food donations? Nothing?”

The lieutenant frowns and shakes his head. Odin’s neglect appalls Eleanor and she stays silent for the remainder of the journey. She lets the pain of Frigga’s death and the plight of these shockingly welcoming people wash over her, tears falling unbidden down her cheeks.

She may not be a widow, but she grieves just the same.

* * *

 

 

“Leave us,” Odin snaps at the Einherjar.

The lieutenant gives Eleanor a long look that she has no hope of deciphering before he exits along with the rest. Loki’s grip on her shoulder tightens and she’s thankful that she is not actually alone with the Allfather. She’s never seen him look so angry and so broken. Eleanor tries to dry her tears as he scowls down at her.

The king makes her feel so small.

“You’ve returned from the Dark World unharmed, I see.” He does not sound particularly happy about this fact. There is something wild in his gaze and it scares her. She is suddenly sure that her death would bring him great joy. Although Odin has never been a fan of Eleanor’s, the hate apparent in his gaze is a new development.

“No,” she managed.

“No?”

“No, I haven’t returned unharmed.”

“My eyes spot no injury.”

Eleanor smiles ruefully. “It’s not the kind of hurt you can see. It’s…” The tears overcome her once more as she pictures Loki’s lifeless eyes and grey skin. Those two hours when he was truly dead to her could easily have stretched to encompass the rest of her life.

“Speak, traitor,” Odin insists.

“It’s…” She digs the heel of her hand into her chest. “I… He’s dead. He’s dead.”

Odin bristles and then seems to cave in on himself, hanging his head between his legs.

Even before her garbled announcement, Odin looked wrong. His rumpled and disheveled appearance is odd compared to his usually perfect regality. Now he jiggles his knee and tugs at his messy, greasy hair.

“My son?” he murmurs.

“What?” Eleanor asks. “No. Not Thor. I’m pretty positive that Thor saved the universe.”

“Of course he did!” Odin screams and leaps to his feet.

The sudden change in his demeanor from heartbreak to violence has Eleanor stepping back, away from the terrifying, wrecked king. She hits Loki’s chest.

“You refer to my younger son. Loki.”

Behind her the son in question inhales sharply. This is the first time Eleanor’s ever heard Odin claim Loki as his son. Pity he couldn’t manage it before Loki “died.”

“Um, yes,” Eleanor replies. Her voice cracks and Odin’s face twists with fury.

“You dare grieve before me?” screams the king, descending the steps below his throne. He makes a menacing figure, reminding her a bit of Loki at his very worst, when his mind was so far gone. “You dare shed these tears when you are single-handedly responsible for the demise of half my family!”

Eleanor gapes as Odin bears down on her, stunned by this recent development. Loki tugs on her elbow, but she is too shocked to flee from the definitely enraged and maybe actually insane king.

“What?” she squeaks as Loki forces her to back away.

“You let him leave! You led him to his death!”

She can’t really argue with this but can hardly believe that Odin cares so much. She seems to have misjudged him, in more ways than one. There is madness in his eyes and Eleanor decides that this was an extremely bad idea.

“You killed him, you traitorous whore, just as you turned Frigga against me. She loathed me at the end and it was all your doing! You used her, learned from her, and after you had the love of the people you let her die so you could fill her position. Well, you miscalculated. I see you for the snake you are, and for your crimes I will take your head.”

Loki is in front of her now, slowly inching her back.

She recalls a forgotten moment of conversation, Odin’s strange comments after the funeral. What seemed like honorable and right a couple hours ago has suddenly become extremely stupid. She should have listened to Loki and not come back. There had to have been some other way to let Thor and Jane know she is safe.

“No, no, there can be no trial.” Odin mutters to himself now, his eyes twitching in ever direction. “You’ve bewitched the people thoroughly, but I remain immune. I alone.”

Eleanor scrambles back as Odin lowers his staff, pointing it at what he thinks to be her chest when it is really the son he is mourning.   Loki flashes into visibility before her, palms raised. Green light bursts from his hands just as purple shoots from Odin’s staff. The magic seems to hang between the two gods, fusing together and crackling.

“Loki?” gasps Odin.

Loki drops his hands but it is too late. Something about the combination of this magic causes it to grow into a great cloud that engulfs the Allfather. Eleanor pulls Loki out of harm’s way and they take shelter behind a column as it dissipates into nothingness, revealing Odin where he lies on the ground, completely motionless.

* * *

“Well, _damn_ ,” Loki remarks, prodding Odin with his boot.

“Damn! That’s a bit of understatement don’t you think? Did we kill him? Holy fuck, Loki. Did we kill him?”

“Not intentionally,” he replies, ignoring Eleanor’s hysteria for a moment to examine the king in a crumpled heap on the floor.

“What happened?” she whispers, tugging on Loki shoulder. “Holy shit, Loki, what was that? With him accusing me of all those horrible things and that magical super storm?”

“He’d gone mad, Eleanor,” Loki replies. When he finds a pulse he cannot determine if he feels relief or annoyance. Perhaps their lives would be easier if the king were dead, but Loki truly does not want to be the one to do him in, despite all that has occurred. “I would know madness. Grief-induced insanity, I suppose.”

“And what the fuck was with the magical cloud of doom?”

“I protected you,” he says, replying the scene in his mind as he struggles to understand it. “Something in the magic went awry. My spell combined with his spell combined with the power of our bond. I know not, but he lives.”

“Oh, thank God.”

“No need to thank me.”

“Really? Really? Does now _really_ seem like an appropriate time for that joke! We almost killed the fucking Protector of the Nine Realms and you are making jokes!”

She is right. This is no time for jokes as there are guards approaching. Eleanor turns, eyes wide and horrified as the footsteps become more threatening. With a wave of his hand he cloaks Odin’s body and shifts his own.

“Loki, what do we— Fuck!” She turns, stumbling in her shock when she sees him not as he is, but as Odin.

“What is the meaning of this interruption!” Loki booms, matching his false father’s speech patterns perfectly. He places a hand on Eleanor’s shoulder, hoping to prevent her from completely losing all composure at this most inopportune of times. She is tense and shaking under his palm.

“We heard shouts, my king.” It’s an unusual thing, being addressed with so much respect, and a thrill of satisfaction runs up his spine when the guards fall to one knee, fists crossed over their hearts in salute. “We were concerned.”

“You heard the cries of a grieving father and the recently widowed,” Loki says with Odin’s voice. “Leave my daughter-in-law and me to mourn in peace.”

With murmured apologies they back out of the hall.

Loki eyes the throne while Eleanor eyes Loki. With a wave of his hand he is once more himself and Odin appears, unconscious at his feet.

“So, uh, what now?” asks his wife.

“An excellent inquiry. And one I have no answer for as of yet.”

“Well,” Eleanor murmurs, taking his hand. “We certainly can’t tell anyone that you fought with him. Can we just leave him here? Pretend like its Odinsleep or whatever?”

Loki kneels, prying Odin’s eyelid open. The Allfather’s eye is blank, dull, not sharp and aware as they have been in the past when the Odinsleep was upon him. Loki senses magic in him whereas in the past the sleep has left him as vulnerable as a mortal. “This is no Odinsleep.”

“Well, fuck.”

Her nerves are apparent in her tone and she is fraying, spiraling into hysteria. Since Mother’s murder, Eleanor has been nothing but strong. Still, she is unaccustomed to such violence, such heartache, and she nears the end of what she is capable of bearing.

Loki is too, come to think of it.

“What about Heimdall? I know he can’t see us, but can he see Odin all passed out?” Eleanor asks.

“Heimdall has not been able to see Odin in thousands of years,” Loki says with a snort. “Where do you think I learned to cloak myself from the gatekeeper’s sight?”

“Okay. Okay. Good. But seriously, Loki. What the hell do we do now?”

* * *

 

In the end they spirit Odin’s unconscious body to their rooms. No one is likely to disturb them there and Loki would be near Odin when he wakes – if he wakes – to assess the extent of the damage they caused here.

In a reversal of their normal reactions to stress, it is his wife that now paces the length of their living area. Each time she passes the doors to the hall she checks the locks. After the third pass Loki gives up reminding her that he’s magically sealed them.

Loki sits by the Allfather. They’ve laid him out on a lounge and although the king breathes steadily, he does not appear well. His cheeks are ashen, his eyes twitching beneath closed lids. In this state the figure that was always so imposing in Loki’s life is small and feeble.

“Should we get a healer?” Eleanor asks, braiding her hair as she walks.

“No, not yet. Not while he remains stable enough. He saw me, Eleanor, and we cannot let him go,” Loki says.

“Oh, so now we are adding kidnapping to our list of crimes?” Eleanor says. Her hysteria has not abated, but neither has it worsened, and for this Loki is grateful.

“I was already a kidnapper, as you should very well remember.”

“Right. Fuck. Loki, your mother would not have wanted you to hurt him.”

He closes his eyes and battles the despair that threatens to drown him. When Thor approached him with his insane plan for revenge, Loki shut off his grief, refusing to acknowledge this most painful of losses until a time when his attentions were not required elsewhere.

Eleanor makes it difficult to keep the anguish at bay and if he thinks on it too greatly then he will not be able to properly deal with the unconscious, mad Allfather situation in a way that keeps Eleanor safe.

“I know, my love.”

His words appease Eleanor for a moment before she takes up her maniacal pacing once more. He attempts to find the proper words to soothe her more thoroughly, but there truly is nothing to say, for Loki can offer no solution until Odin awakes.

 _If_ Odin awakes.

“Don’t be mad,” Eleanor says, frantically braiding her hair.

These words never fail to make him mad.

“What?” he snaps. “What have you not told me?”

“I didn’t intentionally not tell you. I really, truly forgot until Odin flipped out.”

“What, Eleanor?”

“Right after the funeral Odin blamed me for her death. He said I used her to get the love of the people and then let her die. It was pretty nuts and he’s obviously been teetering on the edge since she died,” confesses his wife. The words spill out of her, her guilt obvious. “A lot was going on and I forgot and I’m sorry. If I would have been thinking clearly I wouldn’t have made us come back here, but I wasn’t; so here we are, and now we are just fucked and I am sorry.”

Loki sighs and although he wishes he had all the information before handing themselves over to the Allfather, he just does not have it in him to be angry with his wife.

“It’s all right, darling. What’s done is done. Let us not dwell on what we cannot change.”

Eleanor visibly relaxes and continues her pacing.

Several silent moments later, there is a brisk knock on the door and Eleanor lets out a little squeal, turning to look at Loki with wide eyes.

“Holy shit, what should I do?” she whispers, gesturing wildly towards the door.

“Answer and do try to ask naturally,” he murmurs, waving his hand and cloaking himself and Odin from sight.

Loki moves to hover close behind Eleanor, prepared to ward off any attack, but the servant is without weapon or armor.

“Oh hi, Neela,” Eleanor greets.

“My princess.” The servant bows. “I am so very sorry for your loss.”

“Yeah,” Eleanor says, tearing up. “Asgard lost a wonderful queen.”

“Yes,” replies the servant, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Of course. But I was referring to your husband, Prince Loki. Word of his demise reached the servants quarters just an hour past.”

“Right. My husband. I am a grieving widow.” Eleanor does not sound like a grieving widow. “I haven’t really… processed the whole thing, you know? I think I’m in shock.”

The poor servant obviously does not understand Eleanor’s little declaration, but she nods anyway.

“Of course, Princess,” she murmurs, bowing slightly and presenting a folded piece of parchment. “From the Lady Sif.”

“Oh,” says Eleanor, taking it. “Where is Sif? Why didn’t she just come in herself?”

“She is imprisoned, Princess. For treason. If I might be so bold, I was rather surprised to have found you here. I surely expected to find you in a cell of your own.”

“Right. For treason,” Eleanor says, picking at the wax seal. “Well, here I am. Thanks, Neela.”

“Will you be requiring anything further on this day, my princess?”

“Nope. I’m good. Thanks.”

Eleanor shut the door in the servant girl’s face. She turns and barely manages to conceal her surprised shriek when Loki materializes just in front of her.

“Sif is in jail,” Eleanor says, pushing the note into Loki’s chest unread. She takes up her pacing once more as he unfolds the paper.

“As are Heimdall, Fandral, and Volstagg,” Loki murmurs as he reads. “And your father, but that is a different matter. He pays for past crimes while the others are relatively innocent.”

“I guess it makes sense with all the treason and all. Odin was going to let them out after Thor won, right?”

“I know not, Eleanor,” he replies, continuing to read. “When you spoke to him he was not in his right mind. You heard him before he attacked you. If we did not arrive when we did he very well could have killed them all. They are being held on the block reserved for those sentenced to die.”

“Fuck,” Eleanor mutters. “Still, this is a bit of poetic justice. Maybe now he’ll have a little empathy for your break with reality. If he ever gets his mind right, that is.”

Loki sighs as he finishes reading.

“How did someone on death row manage to get me a letter?” Eleanor asks.

“It appears that the guards and servants have a better understanding of Thor’s actions and they sympathize with those who assisted. There is great hope that upon news of Thor’s success all those who are being held on treason charges will be released. Would you like to read this? Sif is rather genuine as she offers the deepest condolences for your dearly departed husband.”

“Gah,” Eleanor says, covering her ears. “No. I don’t want to think of you dead. That was seriously the worst two hours of my life.”

Despite her words Eleanor grabs the letter, her eyes moving across the paper as Loki rests his hand on the small of her back, hoping to provide a bit of comfort.

“This is rather sweet, coming from someone who hates you,” Eleanor comments.

Loki hums his agreement, glancing at Odin’s prone frame once more to ensure that he remains unconscious.

“Dude,” Eleanor says with sudden revelation. “You’ve got to do it.”

“Pardon?”

“Right. Exactly. You have to pardon them. Put on your Odin face and get them out of jail.”

“I thought you were generally against me putting on Odin’s face.”

“I am. But you’re right. The guy’s lost his marbles, so you’ve got to get them out.”

“And leave you here with Odin unprotected? I think not.”

“Can’t you set up some sort of magic that prevents him from coming into our bedroom or something and keeps him from leaving? I can just hide in there if he wakes up.”

Loki is wary, but after a few more moments of arguing, Eleanor wins. As she usually does.

* * *

It is Heimdall that he first removes from the white cells. It is a risk, as the gatekeeper is extremely powerful and close to the Allfather, but Loki’s magic is strong, as is his acting, and they reach the end of the rainbow bridge without incident.

Heimdall confirms what Loki already believed to be true. Thor vanquished Malekith and contained the Aether, keeping the universe safe a bit longer.

“He now, ah, celebrates,” Heimdall says, apparently uncomfortable.

Loki is suddenly very relived that he and Eleanor both are cloaked from the gatekeeper’s sight.

“No more details, please, Heimdall,” Loki says with Odin’s voice, backing out of the Bifrost pavilion. “That is already more than a father needs know.”

Heimdall chuckles.

“Return to your post, good gatekeeper, and let us not speak of this alleged treason again.”

Loki returns to the white cells, releasing the warriors there but giving no apologies or explanations. A king need not offer apologies or explanations, but Loki as Odin does make it clear that the warriors are expected to return to their standard duties as if they were never in jail. They are relieved to hear of Thor’s victory and relieved to be free.

They thank him for his benevolence and there are no traces of contempt in their tone. Loki quite enjoys this business masquerading as the Allfather. This respect is a genuine pleasure and something he is used to receiving only from Eleanor.

Next he meets with the elders of the council, once so eager to see him spend a century on the Isle of Solitude. They seem surprised when Loki uses Odin’s voice to express joy at Thor’s victory.

As Loki continues to converse with those politically closest to Odin, he becomes more convinced that the Allfather slipped from sanity in the days since his mother’s murder. They treat him with great caution, speaking to him as if he is fragile and irrational.

Loki skims their thoughts. Several remember the fear they felt when Odin declared that every Asgardian would fall to insure that the Dark Elves were exterminated also. They thought Odin wanted Asgard to burn, that Odin sought to die in the onslaught.

Their relief when presented with Loki’s composed portrayal of the Allfather is great.

* * *

When Loki returns to their rooms, Eleanor appears at his side immediately, taking his hand as she nods at the Allfather, awake and on the ground.

Odin sits on the floor with his legs crossed beneath him. Cradled in his hands is the tiny gold inkpot Loki’s tossed and caught repeatedly on his very worst days of confinement. The Allfather is running his fingers along the surface as if memorizing each little groove is the single most important task he’s ever been faced with.

“What’s this, then?” Loki asks, placing himself between Odin and Eleanor. The Allfather doesn’t even glance in their direction. He continues to intently study the inkpot with a look of absolute concentration that Loki finds disquieting.

“He hasn’t said a word,” Eleanor says, appearing as concerned as Loki is. “I think we broke his brain.”

As crude as her assessment may be, it certainly appears accurate.

With small, cautious steps they approach the King of Asgard. Eleanor clings to his arm as they tiptoe across the room, stopping some five odd feet from the unusual sight.

“Odin?” Eleanor manages.

She gets no response.

“Father?” Loki tries, forgetting himself for a moment. His tone is young and worried and deeply shameful, but Odin recognizes it, turning his head towards them with a speed that gets a startled squeak out of Eleanor. Her fingers dig into his arm.

Odin stares at Loki for a long, painful moment, squinting. The harsh gaze brings him back to his childhood and it is a struggle for Loki to meet Odin’s gaze, but he does so.

“Blue,” says the Allfather. It is an accusation and Loki recoils.

“Fuck,” mutters Eleanor, rubbing his back.

“Allfather,” Loki says, forcing himself to continue. “Can you hear me? What happened to you?”

Odin says nothing but he continues to look at Loki with revulsion and fear. Loki thought he was done caring about the Allfather’s opinion. Apparently this was a lie he told himself because suddenly Loki is a child and he’s not enough. Suddenly he is hanging off the rainbow bridge, rejected once more but this time he knows why. It can be summed up in one word.

“What do we do?” asks his wife.

She is starting at Odin with the same look of revulsion and fear Odin gives Loki. He strives to focus on Eleanor’s opinion and her boundless love, rather than the Allfather and his hate.

“Loki, I really think he needs a healer,” Eleanor says. “We broke his brain.”

“I suppose you are correct,” Loki concedes.

He steps towards Odin, planning to pull the king to his feet, but Odin whimpers and recoils, dropping the inkpot. The sturdy little thing finally cracks, leaving a trickle of black as it rolls.

“How are we going to do this?” Eleanor asks, dropping to clean the mess. Odin does not flinch from the songbird and he very nearly smiles at her, whistling a tune Loki knows. The melody is from one of Eleanor’s snogs and it indicates Odin remembers her.

He knows Loki is truly blue. He knows Eleanor sings. It hardly seems fair.

“Loki?” Eleanor asks, cradling the broken pieces of the inkwell in her hands. Without thought he waves a hand to fix the damage, siphoning the ink from Eleanor’s fingers.

“Odin will not be Odin,” Loki murmurs. “We need to wait for nightfall.”

* * *

“Nido? Do you know who you are, Nido?”

Odin sits disguised as a palace guard on the same golden examination table where they learned that Jane was infected with the Aether. He says nothing as the healer shines a light in his eyes, but he gives Eleanor a significant look, as if he knows exactly what’s going on and he’s pissed about the whole damn thing.

He also keeps staring at the corner just behind Eleanor where invisible Loki must be camped out.

“Has he said anything at all, Princess Eleanor?” asks the healer. She looks so young for a doctor, younger than Eleanor, but she is centuries and centuries old.

“He said ‘blue,’” Eleanor replies.

“As in the color?”

“Yeah. I don’t know why.” A lie. “But he also whistled a song of mine.”

“That’s a positive. He has some awareness of his surroundings. Where did you find him, again?” asks the healer.

“Wandering around in the city. We were separated when the Dark Elves invaded. Last I saw he got caught up in this crazy explosion of magic. It was like two spells fusing and backfiring or something. I thought he was dead.”

“I see,” says the healer, using that same tone as doctors on Earth when they are silently judging their patients.

“My husband is a little over protective,” Eleanor feels the need to explain. “He likes to yell at the guards outside our room until they follow me around.”

This is not a lie. Her heart hurts when she thinks of Ido.

“Your husband _was_ over protective,” murmurs the healer, pushing gently on Nido’s (Odin’s) shoulder until he lays back. Golden particles of light gather around the healer’s hands as she lifts them above Odin’s (Nido’s) head, using magic to examine his brain.

“Huh?” says Eleanor, somewhat fascinated by the process. Jane called it science but it seems too beautiful for that.

“Was, not is,” she whispers. “The past tense. I am truly sorry for your loss.”

Eleanor stares blankly before she remembers that Loki is supposed to be dead.

“Right, _was_ over protective,” Eleanor replies, studiously not thinking about the terrible time when she thought he was gone forever.

“Did you mourn?”

There is something strange about this conversation and Eleanor’s eyes narrow as she studies the statuesque blonde healer a bit more critically.

“It happened like a day and a half ago,” Eleanor snaps. “It doesn’t even feel real and I’m dreading the moment it does. In the last week I’ve lost the woman who was both mentor and mother as well as the love of my life. I’m going to mourn until I stop breathing.”

“Of course, Princess.”

“Did you know him?” she asks, ever curious of his life before the fall.

“I… it was a long time ago.”

While the healer is busy tinkering around in Odin’s head, Eleanor turns to glare at where she thinks her invisible husband is probably lurking. “ _You had sex with her!_ ” she mouths in the corner.

An invisible hand reaches out to stroke her hair and Eleanor yelps, nearly falling off her stool.

“Princess?”

“I’m fine.” Invisible Loki is still touching her, groping her more, and Eleanor’s having a very hard time sounding semi-normal.

It’s hard for her to swing semi-normal on Asgard, given the way she talks and thinks and feels, but invisible Loki is making it impossible.

“Was it true then?”

Loki’s lips are gently sucking on that sensitive patch of skin just behind her earlobe while his ex-girlfriend is examining his father for a broken brain – a brain they broke.

Her life is so fucking weird.

“Is what true?” Eleanor asks. By some miracle, her voice does not hitch and she does not wiggle in her seat.

“Was he truly of Jotunheim?” It’s barely a whisper. Eleanor almost misses it, drowned out by the sound of Loki’s breath in her ear. “I was there when it first became known, in the cell with him when he screamed of his true parentage for all to hear. I believe he thought I was his father. His true father.”

Loki huffs in Eleanor’s ear. The sound is annoyed.

“When did this happen?” Eleanor asks. Loki bites her earlobe and then covers her mouth to muffle her yelp.

“When he was first brought back from Midgard by the Crown Prince after his treasonous attempt to rule your realm,” says the healer.

Eleanor moans in a way that she hopes comes off as acknowledgement. Loki is doing sinful things with his invisible hands and invisible lips.

“Will there be a funeral?” asks the healer, as the man they are supposed to be mourning sucks at Eleanor’s neck.

“Oh,” Eleanor manages, amazed with her own ability to keep her shit together. “I hadn’t really thought on it. Maybe just something with the family. Thor and I.”

Loki’s touch miraculously keeps the memories at bay, but they are there, lingering on the periphery of her mind constantly – Loki’s face, grey and lifeless, the gaping hole, Thor’s anguish screams and Loki’s “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Eleanor leans back into Loki, solid and alive behind her.

“And the Allfather?” ask the healer. “Will he attend?”

Eleanor looks at Odin disguised as the guard on the healer’s slab. “Sure. The family. But nothing public. ”

“Ah, I see.” She sounds disappointed. Eleanor is both happy that someone loved Loki once upon a time and irrationally jealous, but mostly she just wants her invisible husband to rip off her dress.

“Your guard has experienced profound tragedy,” says the healer whose name Eleanor really must learn at some point. Loki stops with his invisible groping to listen to the diagnosis. “These hurts were amplified by the magical anomaly you witnessed and now his mind protects itself. It is a measure unique to the Asgardian physiology, this ability to retreat into one’s mind. A defense mechanism, as it were.”

“Like an off switch?” asks Eleanor.

“That sounds accurate, yes. It is exceedingly rare. I’ve read of it only.”

“Shit,” mutters Eleanor, making the healer smile.

“Now his mind protects itself. While he heals he will be like this: childlike. Simple.”

“And how long will that take? The healing.”

The healer powers down her magic and helps Nido the Guard sit up. She gives him a small sweet and he tries to chew the hard candy as if he’s never had anything in his mouth before.

“Perhaps never,” the healer replies. “But time is without end. His mind will heal when it heals. When he is prepared for it to do so. In all likelihood, when he does once more possess a sense of self, he will be greatly different than he was before. Again, it is not often we see such injuries and no two are ever the same.”

Odin finally gets the hang of eating his candy. The healer soothes back his hair.

“Did you do this whirly brain test on Loki?” Eleanor asks, ignoring her husband’s fingers as they dig into her shoulders.

“No,” says the healer with a rueful smile. “He would not allow us near him. The strength of his delusions, both visual and auditory, was unlike anything any of the healers had experienced before. He was unable to find peace like Nido, like Asgardians are able to do after great terror and heartbreak combine.”

“Huh,” says Eleanor. She can tell by Loki’s rigid stance at her back that he hates this topic and that he’s so ready to leave.

“There is no literature on Jotunn ailments of the mind, but since the prince displayed such symptoms I’ve been studying Midgardian mental disorders in my free time. Fascinating.”

Loki pokes Eleanor in the back, showing no signs of stopping, and she reluctantly gets off her stool.

“Well, if I ever break my brain you’re the one to see about it,” Eleanor says.

“Indeed, Princess,” she replies with a warm smile.

When Eleanor reaches for Odin’s hand, he takes it.

“And I would like to see Nido in a fortnight to catalogue any changes.”

“Of course.”

* * *

There are secret passageways all over the palace and of course Loki’s had them memorized since he was the Asgardian equivalent of twelve.

They use the one connecting Loki’s rooms to his parent’s absurdly decadent living quarters now.

Eleanor can picture Loki as a little kid, traversing this dark, creepy hallway when nightmares of Frost Giants kept him from sleep. Frigga would pull him into bed, ignoring the grumbling Allfather, assuring her son that he was safe and loved and that Frost Giants aren’t all bad, their children probably have bad dreams about Asgardian warriors, too. The practice would continue until Odin had enough, telling Loki real men face their fears and do not come crawling to their mother at every little bump in the dark. Just look at Thor! He has not feared his dreams since he was a babe! Frigga would be pissed at her husband’s shitty parenting, and on nights with blizzards she would go to Loki, claiming to be too scared to sleep.

Eleanor wants to ask her husband if any of this is accurate, but they are not talking about Frigga, not until they have a few spare moments to properly mourn her.

But Eleanor thinks of her constantly, forgetting every few hours that the queen is dead. But then she remembers and the pain cripples her once more, as damaging and sharp as it was the moment Eleanor rounded the corner in time to see that bastard stick his blade in Frigga’s gut.

Just like he did to Loki. Only her husband survived. Miraculously, her husband survived.

After climbing a seemingly endless flight of crumbling stone steps in the dark, Loki pushes through a door that opens directly into his parent’s bedroom. It is massive and golden and she’s only been in here once before when Frigga wanted Eleanor’s opinion on a dress.

Loki does not linger, moving through the room as quickly as possible and muttering about setting up a bed for them in the library. Loki does not want to be here, a sentiment Eleanor shares, but they can’t risk leaving Odin alone to wander off, wearing his own face. Even with Loki’s magic keeping him confined, they will sleep in this tower tonight.

“Okay, Odin,” Eleanor says, pushing the door closed behind her. It is disguised as a full-length mirror. Eleanor absolutely does not imagine Frigga checking her appearance in it. “Let’s get some sleep, yeah?”

The Allfather gives her a solemn little nod and putters around the room, collecting pajamas before shutting himself in the bathroom. Eleanor is extremely grateful that the king is self sufficient in the basic hygiene department, as helping him bathe and shit would be completely traumatizing.

Eleanor waits a few minutes, trying not to think of the woman who once lived here, until Odin is back, crawling into bed. He shimmies under the covers before looking expectantly between Eleanor and the light.

“Oh right,” she says, waving her hand and plunging the room into darkness. “Goodnight, Odin.”

He whistles at her in reply.

The royal living quarters fill a whole tower and Eleanor moves downstairs to the circular level of the suite that makes up Frigga’s personally library. The tables and various lounge chairs are gone now, replaced with a copy of their green bed from their own rooms a tower over.

Loki sits on the edge of the bed, head hung low and hands digging into his knees. When she stands between his legs, Loki pushes his face into her stomach and wraps his arms around her waist. She pushes her hands through his hair, holding him there.

“It’s been a fucking crazy day,” Eleanor murmurs.

“Try five days. Has it truly been five days only?”

Eleanor sniffs and nods before realizing that Loki can’t see her.

“Yes.” Her voice is small and exhaustion overtakes her. Suddenly, pretending Frigga did not die is an impossible effort and her tears fall. “I keep forgetting,” Eleanor confesses. “I want to tell her something or ask her something and then I remember that I can’t because she’s gone and then it feels like she dies all over again, every single time I remember.”

Loki shudders. She can feel his tears seeping through the fabric of her dress.

They are quiet and still and mourning for a long time, until Eleanor’s legs threaten to give out from the exhaustion of the last week. Eleanor pulls her dress over her head and then steps out of her underwear. Somehow she gets Loki up and strips him too. They crawl into bed, comforted by the warm, familiar space, and lay facing each other, legs tangled under the blankets.

Loki takes her hand as they share their grief.

It is so different from the last time she lost a parent, but the hole in her chest that opened up the night her father died has expanded again. The emptiness never went away but Eleanor learned to live with the absence of Harrison Tate.

And the same will happen by the void in her heart left by Frigga, but contemplating such a thing now when the sorrow is so raw is impossible, unbearable.

“You loved her,” Loki murmurs, catching her tears on his thumb and bringing the liquid to his lips. “As a mother. You truly loved her.”

A ragged sob tears through her chest and Eleanor nods.

“It is a comfort,” Loki continues. “A small one to be sure, but I am glad that you loved her as she loved you.”

Eleanor would echo his statement – that Frigga loved him as he loved her – but she is overcome by tears.

They cry themselves to sleep.


	17. Birthright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, guys. I've officially be diagnosed with carpal tunnel. It's early, so hopefully I can avoid surgery, but it means I've had to slow down.
> 
> Which is sooo annoying.
> 
> Anyway, we get to the new story arch after this chapter and I for one am pretty excited about. Thank you all so much for sticking around.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> 1st beta: Heather  
> Final beta: Erica

When Loki opens his eyes it takes him a few moments to determine exactly why their bed resides in his mother’s library, but when he recalls the details of these last days he longs for the blissful unawareness of sleep.

Groaning as he is bombarded by waves of sorrow and hatred and loss, Loki pulls the blankets up over their heads. He blocks out everything beyond this bed. The universe is devoid of occupants and horrors. It is only Eleanor and Loki under a fur throw.

His wife sleeps on, her whole naked form angled towards him. Her hand rests on his chest, a possessive claim that pleases him endlessly. In the night she’s shoved her feet between his calves. They seem eternally hot, even when the rest of her shivers, and she often seeks his cool skin to chill her feet, a habit that follows her in sleep.

Loki wonders how he would bear this on his own and is immensely thankful that Eleanor is with him now. Never again will he be alone, if she is to be believed.

And he does indeed believe her.

For now, anyway.

“Are you doing that creepy thing where you watch me sleep?” Eleanor’s voice is garbled and she has yet to open her eyes.

“Guilty.”

He touches her cheek. Her eyes stay closed.

“How many times did you bang the tall blonde doctor? What’s her name?” she murmurs.

Eleanor’s mind will forever be a mystery to Loki. Why she asks about such meaningless drivel so early is arcane and she is ruining the illusion of there being no world outside their blanket cave, but Eleanor’s jealousy is a rare and refreshing thing. Loki would honestly rather discuss this than more pressing and depressing matters.

“I do not recall,” Loki replies.

Eleanor’s eyes remain closed and it makes her attempted glare an adorable one.

“What don’t you recall? How many times or her name?”

“Both.”

“Uh, try neither,” Eleanor replies, fighting her smile as Loki trails a fingertip down the curves of her chest. “You remember everything always.”

“Her name is Sigyn. And our affair was brief. No more than a year.”

“A year is not brief.” Her irritation in this is somewhat delightful, yet totally misplaced.

“It is when you live for thousands.”

“Okay, yeah. Good point.”

“This was all centuries before your birth, my love,” Loki reminds her, still lightly drawing patterns on her skin. He traces his Jotunn runes on his wife, but still she does not open her eyes.

“Did you love her?”

Loki snorts. “No.”

“She loved you.”

“Unlikely.”

“She totally did! It was obvious.”

“It matters not. I much preferred her brother.”

That finally gets her eyes open. They are wide and shocked for a moment before they narrow in suspicion.

“Are you fucking with me?” she asks.

“I would never.”

“How did I not know this?”

Loki shrugs, pulling the blanket a little more firmly over their heads.

Eleanor looks past him at nothing, expression dreamy and eyes glassy.

“Eleanor?” he asks.

“Hush.” Her expression is far away.

“Eleanor.”

“Dude, you are ruining it,” she says, placing a palm over his mouth. He jerks it away.

“What do I ruin?” he snaps.

“And I’ve lost it,” she says, rubbing her eyes. “You’ve ruined it.”

“What have I ruined, exactly?”

“You ruined my mental picture,” she replies, pouting.

Understanding dawns and he rolls his eyes. “Really, Eleanor.”

“Is it weird to be jealous of something and turned on by it at the same time?”

“Yes.”

“You know, I was with plenty of ladies in my day,” she informs him.

“Enough! I feel jealousy only. And also rage. I hate everyone to ever touch you, regardless of gender identity.”

Eleanor laughs and kisses the corner of his mouth.

“I love you,” she says. “I am ridiculously in love with you.”

“Good,” Loki says. “My mother is dead.” The words come to his lips unbidden and suddenly the world outside the blanket is a very ugly presence. His chest is tight and he knows not what to do with his rage because those responsible for her death are dead also. Loki killed one, Thor the other. There is no more vengeance to be had.

Oh, and now he’s made his wife cry.

He fears he will be the cause of her tears with greater frequency in the near future.

“Yeah,” Eleanor murmurs, tucking her head beneath his chin. He holds her there. “She’s really gone.”

“My mother is gone and my false father is mad and my brother has unknowingly left us here to navigate the mess,” Loki says.

“He’s got to be back soon, right?” Eleanor asks, lifting her head to look at him. Their breath mingles hot, trapped under the furs. “I get that he’s making up with Jane, but he’s basically king. He has to be back soon. Right?”

“Yes,” Loki replies. It is not wholly a lie.

“And you are going to wear Odin’s face? At least until Thor comes home?”

He twirls a blond curl around his forefinger and kisses her temple, buying himself a bit of time to consider how much truth he should give her.

“Will you?” she asks again.

“Yes,” Loki replies.

“So then what? With Odin out of the equation are you still going to insist on pretending to be dead?” Eleanor asks.

“Yes,” Loki replies.

He waits with bated breath for her verdict, wondering how much she suspects of Loki’s future plans. So far she seems to be basing her own planning on the assumption that Thor will soon return to claim the throne. She assumes that Thor wants to be king.

But in the thousand years lived at the golden prince’s side, Loki has learned quite a bit about his brother.

“So we are still going to disappear into the Nine Realms,” she murmurs.

“When Thor returns for the throne,” Loki says, being careful to keep from lying so blatantly.

“Can we go to Midgard first?” she asks.

“Pardon?”

“Please? After everything I’d really like to see my family. And Darcy. And Jane, now that she’s all uninfected. If you really want me to keep pretending that you are dead, I can but I’m not thrilled about it.”

“Pardon?”

“I can do it.” She pleads now, fists banging against his chest. “I can play the grieving widow. They will all be convinced of my heartbreak and then we’ll leave, but I think I should give Jane a letter.”

“A letter?” He is really not following.

“Yeah. I’ll hide it in her house somewhere and eventually she’ll find it. I’ll explain that you are not dead, but we’ll be long gone. That way Thor will know. He won’t try and find us, Loki, not with Odin the way he is now.”

It is an acceptable plan and one that, in all likelihood, will never come to fruition.

“We can go wherever you want after that,” she says. “For as long as you want. I’ll follow you anywhere, but we’ve got to go see the people I love first. And stop Thor’s pain.”

“You have no problem with me continuing to sit on the throne?” he asks. “Wearing Odin’s face.”

Eleanor’s nose is once more pressed into Loki’s neck. “Are you going to go all megalomaniacal tyrant on me again?”

“No,” he says, blinking down at her. “And if I do anything you consider tyrannical, our bond still stands. You can command me to stop, if need be. My own little failsafe.”

“I didn’t even think of that.”

“And yet you agreed to this arrangement?”

“I trust you, Loki. We’ll do this until Thor gets back. It can’t be more than a few days.”

“Ruling is something I promised you I would no longer seek, if you recall.”

“You didn’t seek this. Unless you did and I’m just a sucker.”

She will be furious with him for keeping this from her, but telling her seems such a risk. “Eleanor—”

“Blue!” The deep voice comes from outside their blanket cocoon and Loki sits upright, letting the morning sun in and the rest of the world with it.

“Eleanor, cover yourself,” Loki mutters, gaping down at the Allfather.

Odin sits on the floor near the end of the bed, legs crossed underneath him. The casual stance looks unnatural for the Protector of the Nine Realms, and Loki cannot recall a single moment when Odin sat on the ground during his childhood. Not even when Frigga joined the boys on the floor to marvel over large picture books did Odin lower himself to such a position.

But now he sits on the floor with his legs crossed beneath him, large picture book in his lap and glaring up at Loki.

“How long do you think he’s been there?” asks Eleanor.

“Honestly, I’d rather not know,” replies Loki.

“Blue,” Odin says again in accusation.

“I don’t think he likes our plan,” Eleanor mutters as she searches around for something with which to cover her nudity.

“Do you have a reasonable alternative, oh wise Allfather?” Loki asks, bowing slightly, mockingly.

Odin cringes away from Loki, frowning and blinking. He is so childlike and Loki would like to strike him for it.

Eleanor pulls Loki’s own tunic on over her head before standing. It looks like a dress on his outrageously small wife.

“Guess it’s time to get up,” she says. “You have fake ruling to do.”

“I have fake ruling to do,” Loki agrees, smiling at the thought.

* * *

“We need tents,” Eleanor declares.

She’s gathered a ragtag group of Frigga’s noble lady friends, various guards, and servants in a meeting room not far from where Loki sits on the throne. They all exchange wary looks at Eleanor’s declaration.

“Princess,” says Lady Zara, one of Frigga’s closest confidants. Her tone is placating and Eleanor struggles to keep from grimacing. “Should you not be in mourning?”

“I am in mourning. I’m devastated and wearing black. My heartbreak has nothing to do with our need for tents.” She sounds far more diplomatic than she feels.

“It is traditional for the recently widowed to spend no less than a month in isolation,” says Zara. “And I am unsure how your attire is relevant.”

Eleanor sighs heavily. “Odin isn’t isolated.”

“The king is male. This applies only to wives.”

“It is traditional for women to spend a month alone after their husbands die?” Eleanor asks, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms over her chest.

“Yes, to properly grieve.”

Despite her full night’s sleep, she is still tired and Frigga is still dead and when she closes her eyes she sees Loki’s grey, lifeless face, so she has no patience for this cruel, sexist tradition.

“Yeah,” Eleanor drawls. “I’m so not doing that. We are going to figure out shelter for everyone that lost their homes in the attack.”

“This is no concern of yours, Princess. Now is the time to grieve. Leave this business to our wise Allfather,” says Zara.

Eleanor closes her eyes, working very hard not to lash out in frustration. She relies on every Princess Lesson, every courtesy Frigga ever taught her. Even with all that training it is only the memory of the dead queen that keeps Eleanor from slapping her closest friend.

“Have any of you been in the city?” she asks. “There are Aesir living on the streets, crowding around open fires to keep warm and trying to stay dry under hunks of crumbled buildings. This is unacceptable and we are going to fix it.”

Frigga would deem both this speech and her mission acceptable.

“But, Princess Eleanor, this is a matter best left to the crown—”

“I speak for the crown!” she snaps, making Zara and several others jump. Typically, she is all smiles and charm to this crowd. She doubts she’ll be capable of that level of charm ever again as this last week surely has sapped her of all pleasantries. “The Queen is dead.” Her voice breaks. “One prince remains on Midgard while the other…”

Eleanor can’t manage the words and she shakes off the image of Loki, laid out in the gavel before her.

“At the moment, the King has no one but me. In this I represent the crown. It is on Odin’s instructions that I’m organizing this.”

Actually, Loki has little interest in helping anyone. He plans to leave all this up to Thor upon his return, but Frigga wouldn’t want her people to suffer a moment longer.

And neither does Eleanor.

“You!” Eleanor says, waving her hand at a few servants lurking in the back of the room. “Guys! All those vendor tents we set up for the summer festival? And that one huge tent for the feast? Can you get your hands on those?”

“Yes, Princess.”

“And we’ve got bed rolls and blankets and stuff in the armory, right?”

“Yes, Princess,” says Fandral.

Eleanor does a double take, but when she was talking three familiar warriors seem to have wandered in. Sigyn the healer is here too.

“Fandral,” says Eleanor. “Get everything. All that bedding. Grab it and bring it to the amphitheater.”

Fandral bows. “Of course, my Princess.”

“Neela,” she continues, turning to her jittery servant. “You are in charge of food. Enlist any servants you need on my orders. Gather all the food you can from the kitchens. We are going to set up a buffet in that huge tent. Once we get that huge tent set up.”

“Yes, Princess.”

“Zara, you are going to round up the ladies. Get all the clothes you are working on from the sewing room. Encourage all the nobles to donate. We need warm, winter things. Cloaks. Hats. Gloves. Got it?”

“But—”

“ _Got_ _it_?”

Zara sighs. “Yes, Princess.”

“Sigyn. First aid.”

“Yes, Princess.”

“Okay. Be in the amphitheater in two hours. The tents will all be set up by then, won’t they boys?”

“Yes, Princess.”

After a year and a half on Asgard, Eleanor finally is starting to enjoy her title.

* * *

 

“Name?” asks Eleanor.

“Bori and Lucia.”

She jots it down in the ledger.

“Any children?” she asks.

“Two.”

She takes down their names as well.

“Okay,” Eleanor says, glancing over her shoulder at Sif who is gathering supplies from carts behind her and handing them to the ragged, homeless family. “Four bed rolls, pillows, and blankets.” She marks it all down in the ledger. “You’re assigned to row six, tent seventeen. That’s to your left, just that way. It’s all heated and there will be another family in there with you. There’s food in the big tent in the center, right behind me, and there is a medical tent set up on the stage if you need a healer.”

The family stares at her in stunned silence for a few moments before the mother bursts into tears.

There are four separate check-in stations set up at the gates that lead to the field of the amphitheater, and so far they’ve checked in over 200 Aesir in the last two hours since opening up what Volstagg has so cleverly named City of Tents.

Eleanor estimates that there are 150 or so still in line that need shelter.

They’ve been remarkably efficient, even with the occasional Aesir weeping with gratitude.

“It’s all right,” Eleanor says. “You are safe now. You’ll be warm and well fed. As long as you need shelter, you will have it.”

Every member of this run down family shuffles past Eleanor, bowing and touching the back of her hands as they murmur their thanks. This would make Frigga proud and happy.

Eleanor struggles to keep her own tears from falling.

Loki says she has the love of the people. They certainly find her an entertaining novelty, but this is her first time actually helping them.

With Odin’s brain turned off and Loki on the throne, too wrapped up in his own grief to care for the plight of the Aesir, Eleanor is the only one who truly has the power to repair this damage.

As the people thank her and touch the back of her hands, Eleanor feels like Princess is a title she’s now earned. She is no longer pretending.

Still, she doesn’t have room in her heart to fully take on their pain, but to make up for her lack of feeling she’ll give them everything they need until Thor returns and she leaves them for real.

Between checking in families she glances at Sif.

“She would be so proud,” whispers the warrior. Eleanor’s heart gets heavy and she turns from the line of refugees to wipe her eyes. Sif pats her shoulder and Eleanor pulls it together.

“Princess Lesson the Thirty-Sixth. Tears are for private. Smiles are for the public,” she murmurs to Sif.

The warrior laughs but it is a sad sound.

When Eleanor turns back to her work she comes face to face with the Crown Prince himself. He looks over her head, staring at the City of Tents.

“You did all this?” Thor asks. “Today?”

“Um, well. Organized it, anyway.”

“My father gave you this task?”

Eleanor winces. “Sorta.” Both Thor and Sif are scrutinizing her and she braids her hair. “He’ll surely appreciate the help.”

“Odin is not overly fond of you, Eleanor,” he reminds her gently.

“It’s different now.” She can’t look at him and lie. She stares at her feet instead. “Now that we’re both widows.”

“Oh, Eleanor.” Thor reaches for her.

“Don’t.” She puts her palms up, warding off his hug. “Touch me and I’ll cry.”

Thor nods. “You’ve done great work here, Sister. Any chance you can get away? I would speak with you privately.”

Eleanor glances around, spotting a servant. “Excuse me?” she calls.

“Yes, my princess?” He bows.

“Can you find Neela? Send her over here, please?”

Neela appears a few minutes later, accepting the ledger from Eleanor and taking over the check-in station with Sif. Thor and Eleanor make their way back to the palace.

“So you were able to successfully return, then?” he murmurs.

Eleanor nods.

“And—” Thor clears his throat. “And what of my brother’s body?”

This is a question she should have anticipated and although she has no ready answer, six-plus years with the God of Lies has prepared her for such situations.

“I gave him a proper funeral, Thor,” she whispers. Tears come at the mere possibility of dead Loki and she lets them fall. “Before I went to see Odin. I thought about waiting for you but… So many hated him and I didn’t want to take the chance of anything going wrong.”

Thor nods in understanding.

They walk in silence, snaking through the city – parts untouched, parts destroyed but now vacant – in silence. Eleanor’s guilt eats at her, worse now that she sees the proof of Thor’s heartbreak. He is aching for his brother, for his mother, but Eleanor made a promise, told Loki that she would lie.

In that moment she would have promised him anything, so great was her relief to find him alive.

They enter the golden palace and Thor turns to her. “I am so sorry, Eleanor. So very sorry.”

“Thor, it wasn’t—”

“He was my brother. My younger brother. When he was still small, nightmares plagued his sleep and I promised to always protect him. What a spectacular failure I am.”

“Thor.” She tries to comfort him again but there is nothing for her to say. She sobs and lets Thor take her hands.

“I failed when he discovered his true heritage. I failed when he let go of the bridge, certain death and the darkness of space preferable to coming home. I failed when evils beyond comprehension took him, and again when his mind turned on him while imprisoned in the Tower of Stark. But this failure… How will you ever forgive me, Eleanor?”

She wonders if she’ll ever forgive Loki for placing her in this position, but then finds solace in the fact that she’ll leave Jane a letter, explaining away all this pain.

“It’s not your fault, Thor,” she says, taking his face in her hands and willing him to believe her. “Remember what Loki said? To Jane and me? About misplaced blame? He would not have any patience for your guilt, Thor. He’d want you to blame the elf and you killed him in the end. You kept the universe safe for me and Jane. He would have wanted that.”

Thor nods and takes a shaky breath, standing to his full height as he composes himself. Still, he doesn’t bother wiping the tears from his cheeks.

“I now must speak with my father, but after I will return to Midgard. Jane and I… well, given everything I believe we will reconcile, but there is much to discuss. I will take you with me. How long do you require to pack your things?” Thor asks.

Eleanor winces. Thor’s return to Midgard will delay his coronation and Loki will need to sit on the throne longer. But on the upside, it will give her time to work out any kinks with the City of Tents. And she’ll have ample opportunity to change Loki’s mind on this whole fake his own death business.

“I’m not ready to go back to Midgard,” she says. “Not yet. I want to oversee the refugee situation.”

“Truly? I thought it would be too painful to return to your quarters without him. And with this grievous danger past, I thought you would be anxious to go home.”

“Everything is too painful right now, but at least here I have purpose,” she replies. Lying to Thor is too easy and it frightens her.

“Very well, Sister.”

Giant hands come to rest on her cheeks and she’s never seen Thor so utterly broken. She is cruel, to let him grieve for his brother so soon after losing his mother, but she stays silent, putting her husband’s needs first.

“We will always take care of you, Eleanor,” he says. “Jane and I will take care of you.”

 _I don’t need to be taken care of._ The words are on her tongue, her experiences and all she’s gone through as ready proof that she is strong and capable and does not need to be taken care of, but Thor is hurting so she stays silent.

Thor kisses her forehead and Eleanor nods, letting more tears fall.

“Very good,” Thor says, stepping back. “Inform Heimdall when you are ready to come to Midgard. Until then.”

He turns with a flourish of his red cape, identical to the one he reverently laid over Loki. He’s headed to the throne room, to speak to the king who sits there. He’ll see his father but it is all a lie.

Silently, Eleanor trails the Crown Prince. She is a shadow, slipping unseen into an alcove near the throne. This was Frigga’s first lesson, showing Eleanor where to listen to the goings on in the throne room without detection.

She does so now.

* * *

“Go, my son.”

“Thank you, Father.” Thor nods and bows before turning and marching down the hall. Loki fights his own grin, for his brother can always be counted upon to be unreservedly predictable.

Thor, God of Thunder, Crown Prince of Asgard, gave up rule in favor of several decades spent on Midgard with a rapidly aging mortal.

“ _I’d rather be a good man than a great king,”_ he said.

Loki has no such ambition.

Thor reaches the door, exiting the hall, and Loki lets the illusion of Odin melt away from his visage. “No,” he murmurs. “Thank you.”

And then Eleanor emerges from some corner of the throne room where she was apparently listening, arms crossed over her chest.

For one brief, glorious moment he thought not of anything but this victory. He basked in its warm glow.

For one brief, glorious moment he forgot about this particular hurdle, standing between him and the throne. It is not the insane Allfather locked in a tower, or the legality of Thor’s claim, or the necessity of spending the remainder of his days wearing another’s face, but the small half mortal love of his life that will prove the most difficult obstacle.

But now Eleanor stands at his feet.

As Loki struggles to contain his gleeful grin – he beat Thor, nothing stands between him and his birthright – Eleanor gazes up at him, face utterly blank and devoid of emotion.

In his experience, emotionless Eleanor is never a good thing, as she defaults back into the lonely, despairing, self-destructive creature she was upon their first meeting.

Loki’s elation at this achievement of his most lofty of goals is short-lived, ruined by the mask his wife now hides behind.

“Did you hear the entirety of our discussion?” he asks, clearing his throat and firming his grip on Gungir.

Eleanor does not answer, continuing to study him with a scrutiny that makes him long to drop her gaze and shy away.

Loki is the closest thing Asgard has to a king in this moment, so he looks her directly in the eyes as he awaits her words, preparing arguments to convince her that this course of action is correct and righteous.

“You’re sitting wrong,” she murmurs.

Loki blinks, surprised as ever by the songbird. “Pardon?”

Looking skyward, Eleanor sighs and lets her arms drop to her sides. “Put your Odin face on,” she says, mounting the steps to where Loki sits upon the throne.

None are allowed to stand upon the dais without express invitation from the king – _King_ _Loki_ – but reminding his wife of this unbreakable rule seems ill-advised at the moment.

“Eleanor?” he murmurs, regarding her with trepidation. She is so close now that he must look up to meet her gaze. A king should not look up at any, but Loki keeps this fact to himself as well.

“Put on your Odin face,” she insists.

Despite his wariness, Loki shifts into the Allfather.

“You’re sitting wrong,” Eleanor repeats, hands on his shoulders. “You’re sitting like Loki, all cocky and slouched to the side. I didn’t know it was possible to sit arrogantly, but you do it. Your body language is all you and the spread legs are sexy, but it just looks weird on Odin. How did Thor not notice?”

“Thor is a fool.”

“Thor is heartbroken because he thinks his brother is dead.” Eleanor’s hands are on his knees, pushing his legs together. “Sit ramrod straight. Chest out. Shoulders back.”

Loki straightens, trying to understand just what Eleanor is attempting to tell him with this bizarre little lesson. Her message surely transcends posture.

“Chin up,” she continues, fingers on his jaw. Or his beard. Her fingers are on Odin’s beard and he has this strange flash of jealousy as Eleanor is touching another – his false father – in a way, but he contains himself. “Put your free hand on the armrest. There.”

Eleanor steps back, retreating down the steps and gazing up at him.

“Better,” she declares.

“Lovely. I am now sitting correctly. Do you have any other lessons to give that do not involve touching this disgusting body?” His sarcastic words sound odd in the Allfather’s baritone.

Eleanor crosses her arms over her chest and raises a single, arching eyebrow.

“Do you not have anything else to say?” he asks. “Beyond critiquing my body language, of course.”

“You’re sitting right now. It looks more believable.” She nods once before turning on her heel and moving towards the exit.

“Eleanor! Have you nothing to say!”

“You’re not as good at this as you think you are,” she says over her shoulder. “All hail the fucking king.”

Loki sits in stunned silence, listing to her shoes clink on stone until a door slams and she is truly gone. He thinks to go after her, to demand she offer an opinion on this most fortuitous turn of events, but an adviser enters, begging an audience and Loki takes stock of his posture, ensuring that he sits on the throne like the king Odin was, rather than the king Loki desires to be.

* * *

Before Malekith and his Dark Elves, thousands of years passed since Asgard was last attacked directly. It was long before Odin so benevolently spared Loki his birthright to die on a frozen rock, and because the destruction of the city is unprecedented in recent memory, there are no established procedures to efficiently correct the damage.

Loki must start from nothing.

He spends a great deal of time receiving individual citizenry from atop the throne, sitting straight like Odin and trying not to expire from boredom and irritation.

His mother died in the assault and in comparison the complaints of these Aesir are petty. He has no sympathy for the shopkeepers who lost the entirety of their stock or the widows seeking monetary compensation to help raise fatherless children.

But they speak to him with reverence and they accept his word as law. They listen. It’s a novel thing, to be respected and listened to – even if they think him Odin – so Loki attempts to empathize with their woes.

He channels Eleanor, treating them as his infinitely more compassionate wife would.

It is tedious work.

Extreme boredom has never been so exhausting and Loki refuses offers to dine with various advisers and nobility. He wants nothing more than to crawl into bed with his wife, but she is in all likelihood very cross with him and Loki has one more pressing task he must see to before retiring.

The kitchen staff and servants bend in subjugation when Loki bans the lot of them from the royal living quarters.

“No one is to enter the tower,” says Loki, using Odin’s voice. “Only immediate family. No cleaning service will be required henceforth and all meals will be delivered to the door only. No one enters the tower, under penalty of death. Am I understood?”

They nod and bow and Loki revels in their submission before departing for said tower.

Here in the familiar rooms once occupied by his parents, Frigga’s absence is painfully apparent and Loki rushes through the enchantments that will keep the unwanted out and the Allfather in. He uses much stronger versions of the magic that locked Odin in Loki’s quarters for the day, while he sat on the throne and Eleanor busied herself seeing to the needs of refugees.

Upon completing the day’s final task, Loki practically sprints through his mother’s old bedroom without glancing at all the personal items, for they hold too many memories. He does not breathe again until he is safe in the secret passageway and moving towards his wife.

* * *

Eleanor is collecting Odin’s empty plate like a common servant when Loki emerges in their rooms. He opens his mouth to object, but Eleanor glares at him, knowing what he means to say before he manages even a whisper.

“Odin’s tower is now enchanted,” Loki says instead. “We sleep here tonight while he can stay there undisturbed. Although we will need to see to it that he gets his meals. And we will be forced to keep the place tidy.”

Eleanor hands Odin a goblet and nods absently.

“I thank you for watching him, but it will no longer be necessary,” Loki says.

Eleanor crosses her arms over her chest and raises an eyebrow.

“With the exception of meals, he will be self sufficient in his tower.” He is filling her silence with chatter and it makes him feel foolish.

“Blue,” says Odin.

“ _Silence_!” Loki shouts, making the Allfather startle and Eleanor glare. “I should bring you to Jotunheim, leaving you on a frozen rock to die. We shall see how you fare, left with a hostile population who thinks you a monster.”

Odin lets out a whimper and turns to whistle at Eleanor, giving her a pleading look that is unnaturally childish on his wizened face. The Allfather is aware enough to know where his true ally lies.

Although Eleanor has no love for Loki’s false father, she does have a weakness for the insane. It is the reason she brought Loki to Midgard in the first place.

“I will escort Odin to his chambers now,” Loki murmurs, calming slightly. His peace is short-lived, for Odin looks to Eleanor once more, only choosing to follow when she nods in encouragement.

Even now, with Loki king and the once-mighty Odin reduced to the mental faculties of an infant, his false father does not listen to him. Loki’s words and opinions and wants are of no great import, below Odin’s notice.

It should no longer burn Loki so, but the rage that dissipated with Eleanor and the life they made on Midgard is returning now that Frigga is dead and Loki is king and Odin is the same, even in his current state.

Loki does not look at the Allfather as they make the familiar journey through the secret tunnel.

“Blue,” says Odin as he steps into his room.

“Did you ever truly see me as your son, even for one moment out of millennia?” Loki asks, feeling miserable and weak.

“Blue.”

The answer is clear.

* * *

All the lights are extinguished save a small candle next to the plate of food Eleanor left out for him. Although he has yet to consume anything substantial on this day, he would rather have Eleanor.

She is curled up on her side of their bed, looking so small and vulnerable under a pile of furs. The fire has nearly burned out and Loki strips, layer by layer, as he approaches her until he wears only a tunic and pants. The floor is cold under his bare feet and Loki longs to be nearer the warmth of Eleanor.

Instead he sits on the edge of their bed, careful not to touch her.

For long, silent minutes they simply gaze at each other in the low light as the dying fire bathes them in shadow.

“Did you eat?” Eleanor asks.

The sound of her voice is a relief after missing it for the majority of the day.

“Yes,” he replies.

“Liar.”

Loki chuckles, giving in to the urge to stroke her hair. “If you had your answer why waste breath on the question?”

“Just hoping I was wrong, I guess.”

It would seem that they no longer discuss Loki’s missed meal.

“What would you have me do, Eleanor?”

“I don’t know.”

“Shall I collect Thor? Tell him all? Drag him away from the life he wants with the woman he loves?”

Eleanor pulls away from his hands, sighing heavily. She sits up against the headboard, moving as if she is ancient and each twitch of muscle takes extreme effort. “Don’t pretend that this is about Thor’s happiness,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I do not pretend,” he replies, struggling to stop his mounting anger. “You know I want this, Eleanor. That has not changed, but Thor and Jane and their happily ever after give you pause now. They are the reason you go against the instinct to end this whole illusion, not what I want.”

Eleanor rolls her eyes. “Six years ago you tried to rule my planet and killed a bunch of people! Can you really blame me for being nervous about this?”

“I am much changed.” How could she not recognize this? “No demonic puppeteer controls me. I am neither enraged nor insane.”

“Oh? You seemed pretty fucking angry when you threatened to leave your mentally ill fake father on fucking Jotunheim.”

He glares at her. The expression is returned with equal fervor.

“You knew,” she whispers. For the first time in years she regards him with disappointment, with hate. “You knew the moment the Allfather woke up loopy that we’d end up like this. You knew Thor would turn down the throne.”

A lie would do nothing but further incur her wrath.

“Fuck, Loki. Just, fuck! You’ve painted us into a corner here. Have you even thought what our lives will be like now? And Thor. I saw him today. He’s devastated. I mean… fuck!”

After this day, after this last painful week, Loki simply does not have it in him to fight with his wife.

Ruling was once his life’s great ambition, but he will give it up if being king means losing Eleanor.

With a heavy heart and a heavier sigh Loki rises, retrieving his jerkin from the floor.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“Leaving.” He is finding reassembling his attire more difficult than it usually is. Magic is always an option, but he’s been Odin all day and he is tired. Plus, he’ll have to disguise himself while he finds Thor.

“Where are you going?”

“Midgard. London, specifically. You’ll have to come too. Up you get.”

“Loki, come on.” Eleanor groans and tugs on her ridiculous mop of hair.

“He will begrudgingly take the burden of the throne when it becomes clear that there is no other choice, for I am no real choice. I never was.”

“Loki! Fuck, come here.”

He pauses in the process of pulling on a boot. “You ask me to give this up, so I am. What more could you possibly require of me, Eleanor?”

“I didn’t ask you to do shit,” she says. “The only thing I’m asking you to do is to take off your fucking armor and come here.”

Reluctantly, he does as she says, settling back on the edge of the bed. She stares at him, deep in thought, and braids her hair.

“I can do this, Eleanor,” he says, embarrassed by the pleading, desperate tremor in his voice. “I was raised to rule. I will excel in this.”

She frowns and it hurts, for Eleanor is the one who does not doubt.

“You claim to trust me,” he snaps, losing patience. “Do you truly think my reign would lead to the ruin of Asgard?”

“I’m not worried about Asgard.”

“No?”

“I’m worried about the other twenty-six realms.”

“Eight.”

She growls at him. _Growls_.

“If you ask me to reveal all to Thor, I will do so,” he murmurs, staring at his hands. The thought sickens him.

“No, you’ve done an excellent job manipulating me into this.”

“Eleanor—”

“I’m not going to be the reason Thor becomes king. I’m not going to take him away from Jane just when she’s got him back. And I’m not going to crush your lifelong dream, either.”

“But?” he asks, bracing himself for the worst.

“I’m not fucking happy about it.”


	18. Good to be King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, everyone is so lovely about the CT situation. Seriously, you guys are the best ones. The wrists are doing alright, but it is slow going to I figured I'd give you a packed chapter!
> 
> My betas are also the best ones.  
> First beta: Heather  
> Final beta: Erica

In his dream, Eleanor is smiling at him.

This is how he knows, without doubt, that the image is in his mind only, for in the months since he took up the crown Eleanor has not smiled. At least not at him, not like that.

For the children she is teaching to play instruments, for Sigyn the Healer who is assisting with medical care for the displaced, even for Sif in the training yard, Eleanor gives them smiles, but certainly not Loki.

Worst of all is Odin.

So he decides to enjoy this dream while it lasts.

It becomes much easier to do so when Eleanor smirks and begins to move lower, lips and teeth and tongue moving down his bare chest until she takes him in her mouth.

It takes him longer than it should to realize it is not, in fact, a dream. He is unsure what fully wakes him, the warm pleasure from her mouth or his own embarrassingly pathetic whimpers, but when he opens his eyes it is to see Eleanor between his legs, staring intently at him.

“Eleanor.” Voice hoarse, he reaches out to cradle her head between his hands, but she snaps her fingers and he finds his hands forced up, stuck to the headboard. “Eleanor!” he scolds.

He struggles fruitlessly for a moment and knows that he could undo this magic with his own, but then she might stop. It truly might kill him, if Eleanor were to stop, and from the look on her face she is well aware of this fact.

By some miracle, Eleanor does to not stop and Loki holds off as long as he is able. So desperate is he for his wife, he is resolved to make this last and last. Touching her would be preferable and after nearly two months of stony silences and blank stares, what she does now is divine, but in all honesty he would rather kiss her.

Loki closes his eyes and imagines that Eleanor is smiling at him, but she stops suddenly, not starting again until he looking at her, pleading with her. She won’t let him forget the reality of the situation, nor does she let him draw it out any longer.

When it is woefully over, Eleanor keeps him prisoner long enough for her to escape to the bathroom untouched.

“What was that?” he demands.

She pauses in the entryway, glancing over her shoulder. Her gaze is greedy and he desperately wants her to come back.

Instead she shrugs. “I don’t know. Just felt like it, I guess.”

“You wouldn’t happen to feel like a great deal more, would you?” he asks.

For one moment Eleanor looks extremely tempted but then her face falls. “You are already going to be late for your first meeting of the day.”

“But, my sweet songbird—”

“You’ve got a fucking realm to rule.” And then she slams the door behind her as she locks herself away in the bathroom.

His hands are free and he falls back to his pillows, beyond frustrated and unable to determine if this bizarre and wonderful little morning interlude was a good sign or bad. 

* * *

 

“We are not here to discuss Princess Eleanor’s duties,” Loki says. He allows himself a moment to slump down in his seat and rub his temples before mimicking Odin’s rigid posture once more.

“But, your majesty, she makes decisions without approval of the counsel. It is presumptuous!”

“Not to mention she is merely the widow of a disgraced prince, and a half mortal as well.”

“She acts as though she were queen. It is unacceptable.”

These are not new arguments and Loki has even less patience for them now than he did when all this first came up with his wife’s creation of the City of Tents. He will not listen to them again.

“Silence!” Loki booms, using Odin’s voice that never fails to command respect. “She has my permission to do whatever she sees fit to accommodate those who remain without homes since the attack. She is the only surviving member of the royal family remaining on Asgard and she speaks with my full authority. I will not hear another word on it.”

His statement is met with head nods and Loki contains his smirk as he basks in their subservience.

“Now,” he says as he lets the silence stretch for several uncomfortable moments. “The matter of restoring the Shield of Gold around the palace. We lack the minerals needed to accomplish this, yes? Any more suggestions to circumvent this issue?”

* * *

 

It takes him no time at all to locate Eleanor in the large central tent where the displaced gather for meals and meetings.

Weeks ago, Eleanor organized child care to allow parents the spare time to get their affairs in order without the burden of watching their progeny. On every third day the princess spends a few hours with the homeless children, teaching them to play various instruments or to sing popular Midgardian children’s songs to lift spirits.

Today it appears that Eleanor is giving more of an impromptu concert than lessons of any sort. Loki’s wife sits on the ground with a guitar in her lap, surrounded by children and their discarded instruments.

Her voice fills the cavernous tent and her song is simple and melancholy, but soothing. Adults have gathered as well, sitting on benches or standing between the tables where meals are served thrice daily. Eleanor enraptures them. They listen with a quiet reverence as she adds both the piano and the violin to the song.

“Beautiful,” murmurs a nearby wife to her husband as Eleanor focuses on the violin, shifting seamlessly into _An Ashokan Farewell_ , one of Loki’s personal favorites. “We are fortunate she elected to stay after the death of the dark prince. There must have been good in him, for one such as that to love the Frost Giant.”

Loki moves away, unwilling to hear more. The crowd parts for him, bowing as they let him pass before once more focusing on Eleanor. She begins a new song. It is more upbeat than the last, and the children clap and sing along, delighted by the familiar selection. He’s heard Eleanor sing it with them before.

She catches sight of him, and her eyes go wide with horror. Loki recoils, thinking her disgusted by his presence. He relaxes slightly as he recognizes the concern in her gaze instead. Eleanor carefully gauges the reactions of those standing near him and never misses a note.

She graces the displaced with her voice for another half an hour before promising to return in several days and reminding the children to practice.

Eleanor rises and makes slow progress towards Loki, stopped every few feet by grateful parents. He’s never seen her appear more royal as she graciously accepts their thanks and praise, maintaining a separation and aloofness befitting her station.

Never did he dream that his crude, stubborn songbird would become such an asset.

When she finally reaches his side he quickly leads her out of the tent with a hand on the small of her back.

“You don’t look like Odin,” she whispers as they trek through the snow, back to the palace.

“Pardon?”

“You look like Loki.”

Alarmed for a moment, he looks down at his hands, relaxing when they are withered and stubby rather than smooth and elegant. “This is the reason you were so scared when you caught sight of me,” he says.

Eleanor nods.

“I thought…” Loki attempts to continue and clears his throat. “I know not what I thought.”

Eleanor sighs, apparently understanding what he means to communicate even when he himself does not.

“Look,” she says, pulling her cloak a bit tighter around her shoulders. “I know I’ve been pissed lately.”

“May I remind you that you agreed to this, Eleanor,” he says, rather _pissed_ himself.

“I know. I know I did, but I don’t like it. Still, I can’t deny that you are giving Asgard what it needs right now.”

“Thank you,” he replies, voice gruff. He tries to hide the extent of what her words mean to him. “As are you.”

She shrugs. “I like kids. Normally they do the music, but morale was low. Maybe it’s the weather. Me singing just sort of happened.”

“You are loved by the people. I’m not sure you understand the power in that, given most thought you an abomination only a few short years ago.”

This truth causes Eleanor discomfort and she fiddles with her hair, unable to braid it with her hands trapped in mittens. “I’m sure plenty still think I’m an abomination.”

“If I hear such talk, the guilty will find themselves without tongues.”

Eleanor sighs again and they walk in silence for a few moments. His wife slips on a patch of snow and he catches her, but must immediately let her go for he wears Odin’s face.

“It is the bond, I believe,” says Loki. “That is what allows you to see through my illusions. Like with Thor after the funeral.”

This is the lengthiest conversation they’ve had in months and he finds himself somewhat desperate for her words.

“I’m glad,” she says. “I hate seeing you as Odin. It is super creepy.”

They share small, shy smiles as they enter the palace and then linger at the base of the magnificent double staircase where Eleanor will go left towards the true Odin and Loki will go right to the throne room.

“I’m not going to be mad forever,” she whispers as to not be overheard. “This is just a rough patch. I’m trying not to be so pissed and soon I’ll get over it. I’m still with you. When I promised you forever I meant it.”

She turns on her heel and climbs the left staircase.

Loki wants soon to be now, but is still comforted by her words.

* * *

 

When they retire to their rooms for the evening – Loki taking the roundabout path from Odin’s tower through the hidden passage as to avoid suspicion – there is no anger and disapproval conveyed with only Eleanor’s expressive face. Instead they share a supper complete with quiet conversation, sharing the events of their separate days.

After the meal they sit side by side in bed, reading with the fire warming their chambers. Eleanor falls asleep first, her head on his shoulder. When he extinguishes the light, he wraps himself around his wife and is at peace.

* * *

 

Eleanor can adapt to nearly any situation.

This is both a strength – she is a survivor – and a weakness – she is too accepting of the things she doesn’t want.

She adapted to a life lived completely cut off from friends and family when she was a lonely, starving musician. She was miserable but didn’t even notice.

She did it again as a prisoner in Loki’s bunker.

Although she chose life in New Mexico, it was still one of the very few options SHIELD allowed her.

The move to Asgard was certainly not something she wanted nor were any of Loki’s life-changing decisions since their arrival here.

He wears Odin’s face and has so far done an excellent job seeing Asgard through such a traumatic moment of rebuilding. Eleanor agreed to this, but she’s still angry.

Most of her anger is directed inward at herself but she takes it out on Loki. Her actions are a bit unfair, as he is the one that got them into this with the ridiculous decision to fake his death and let Thor go back to Midgard. But that isn’t the crux of her anger.

It is not his fault that she cannot accurately determine what she wants her life to be.

She liked New Mexico and she liked Princess Lessons with Frigga here on Asgard. And there is a lot about this current life with Loki on the throne that she likes too. She has purpose. She is doing valuable and lasting good.

But she feels like clay, weak and malleable.   She is without opinions. She is whatever she needs to be in the moment to survive with no thoughts to change her circumstance.

So Loki becomes king and Eleanor soulsearches, trying to determine what she truly wants.

The list is simple.

She wants to help, so she does, setting up programs in the tent city to make rebuilding a bit easier on the disheartened population.

She wants music, so she teaches children to play and delights in singing with them.

She wants friends, so she spends her time with Sif and getting to know Sigyn.

She wants Loki, so when she wakes up for the first time in months with Loki wrapped around her back, she smiles and pushes back into his chest. His breath is warm on her neck and she brings his fingertips to her lips.

“Eleanor,” he mumbles.

“Good morning.”

“Sleep on, my love. It is far too early.”

Disregarding his advice, she lays her head on his shoulder and takes the opportunity to study his profile.

"Does this mean that you are no longer angry with me?" he whispers into her temple. Eyes closed, still sleepy, he almost manages to appear the picture of peace, but there is tension in his jaw.  Eleanor knows these last months have been hard on him as he tries to rebuild Asgard without her emotional support, and despite everything, she truly does believe that she is his highest priority.

"I'm still kinda mad," she replies.  Loki lets out a big breath.  "I'm going to have purpose here, okay?  I'm going to take up Frigga's duties and I'm going to teach little kids to play instruments and I'm going to have girlfriends.  I know those asshole advisers don't like it, but I'm not okay with a life where I just hang out in the sewing rooms and look pretty at fancy state affairs."

"Good," says Loki with much more conviction that she was expecting.  "I would have it no other way.  And caring for the people is not a strength of mine.  This is a capacity you excel in."

Eleanor grins.  "Are you saying you need me?"

"Always."

Pleased, she cuddles a bit closer.

"In all but title you are queen, Eleanor."  It's nothing she hasn't thought herself in the last two months, but the responsibility of it, the immensity of it, will never not freak her out.  "It is not just I who needs you, but the people too."

"I'm a little less mad now," she says.  "Although I still say eventually this whole thing is going to blow up in your face."

"Then I suggest we make the most of it until then.  Would you care to go away with me?"

She sits up, ignoring her husband's grumbled protest.  "Go away where?"

"It's tradition on Midgard for the recently wed to go on a celebratory vacation, is it not?"

"A honeymoon?  Over a year of marriage and you want to go on a honeymoon?"

"Is that not right?" he asks, blinking up at her, confused and adorable. "There is a hunting lodge, in the mountains."

"You want to take me hunting on a late honeymoon?"

"No," he says, rolling his eyes.  "You would slay something and then you would feel bad and then there would be tears.  I have no desire to fake comfort in such a situation.  But it is beautiful.  I know you like to wander around in nature.  And there are heated pools. Hot springs.  We both are in dire need of relaxation, given what life has been like these last years."

She would very much like to leave this moment.  "Don't you have ruling to do?

"The kingdom will keep for several days."

"And what about Odin."

Loki winces.  "Bring him."

* * *

 

"Do you recall, when we wed, deciding to wait a century to discuss children?" he asks, curling a strand of hair around his forefinger. 

"Yeah, obviously I remember." She pauses her vigil over Odin where he splashes in a stream ten yards away to side eye her husband.

"This is not what I had in mind."

She blinks at him for a moment before she gets it. "You are saying that Odin, that king who raised you, is our child," Eleanor says, raising an eyebrow.

Loki snorts.  "Your child, perhaps.  Regardless, it is an apt comparison. You deliver his meals, provide him with activities, and take him outside."

Eleanor rolls her eyes and leans into his side.  After months of simmering in her anger it is a relief to just be content with him, sharing a picnic as they make slow progress towards the mountains.

"You did this to him," she says.  For once, Eleanor is not enraged as she discusses the events immediately following the convergence.  "And I don't mind taking care of him, but you can't get pissy with me for caring about him.  He's rather sweet."

"Eleanor!"

"I'm not asking you to forgive him or even empathize, but don't be a dick either, okay?"

"I suppose these terms are acceptable." He kisses her before she can extoll any more of Odin's virtues and continues to do so until the Allfather himself joins them on the blankets, demanding lunch.  They pack up and are on horseback within the hour, arriving at the hunting lodge in the mountains before nightfall.

* * *

 

"Come along."

She peeks around the edge of the mountain, where the stone path switches back abruptly and the railing ends.  Wind whips her hair around her head and she really shouldn't have let Loki steal her hair tie before they left the luxurious "lodge" that is really more rustic castle than anything.  Below her is a several hundred-foot drop and Eleanor hugs the side of the mountain, pulling her eyes from the drop off to glare at Loki.

Her husband's laugh is stolen by the wind. "Do not look at me like I've once more lost my sanity," he shouts, extending a hand.  "You jumped from an aircraft to a boat while under attack.  What a strange time to develop a fear of heights."

"There's no railing!' she shrieks, her legs rubber and shaking.

"It's a mere twenty paces from here to the entrance of the cave," he says, wrapping his fingers around her wrist even as she pushes herself back into the sheer sheet of rock.

"Yeah, twenty fucking paces on the razor edge of a fucking mountain!"

"You have superb balance."

"It's windy as fuck."

"What does this even mean?  As fuck?  What is fuck?"

"Loki!"

Sighing heavily and looking to the sky for patience, Loki pulls her arms around his waist, her front flush against his back. 

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes," she says, squeezing him as if with enough pressure she'll be able to crawl into his body, to stay safe and out of the wind.  "Mostly."

"Close your eyes," he murmurs.  "Walk as I walk."

They move forward slowly and when they round the sharp turn the wind picks up.  Eleanor keeps her eyes shut and whimpers into Loki's back, but the trip is laughably short and abruptly the climate turns from dry and windy to downright tropical.  Stepping away from Loki, she looks around the large cavern, barely believing her eyes.  Even after all these years living in the world of magic, there are still sights that stun her. 

When Loki said hot spring and cave, he was underselling.  Paradise and Shangri La would have been more apt descriptions.

The cavern is it's own world of heat and color and light.  Lush green plants and brilliant flowers in every imaginable color surround pools of crystalline, cerulean water.  Sunlight shines down through cracks in stone in jagged patches, creating patterns of light and shadow.  Several steaming waterfalls feed the pools and the air is heavy with heat and moisture.

"Worth it?" Loki asks, smirking as she takes it all in.

"Um."  She clears her throat and grins at her husband.  "Fuck yeah."

Loki laughs, the sound reverberating around the cavern like bells.

"Hot springs?  A cave?  Terrible description, Loki, " she says, pulling her tunic over her head and kicking off her boots.

"I wanted you surprised."

"Well done," she says, continuing to strip down to the gold bikini.

"What is that?" Loki says, eyeing her swimwear with disgust.

"You don't like it?" she asks, glancing down at the ridiculously tiny suit.  "Really? I mean, there is like no fabric. You really don’t like it?"

"No."

She glares at him.  "Is there something else I should be wearing instead?"

Loki smirks again and snaps his fingers.  Suddenly he is completely naked before her and her eyes go wide.  "No," he says.

Now it's her laughter that tinkles around the great space and she snaps her fingers too, making herself as naked as Loki.  He lurches towards her but Eleanor takes off, running over soft moss to the nearest pool and cannonballing into the clear water.

* * *

 

After diving to the bottom of the deep pool and splashing around for a bit like giddy children, they find a shallower pool with smooth stone benches built into the sides and have sex in it.  It's the most fun she's had since before Frigga was murdered, before Loki traded his freedom for her safety, before Bragi forced his way into her life with his terrifying dreams.

For the first time in a long time there is laughter and pleasure in abundance.  She straddles his waist, one hand gripping the edge of the pool for leverage, the other digging into his shoulder.  The warm water makes their movements fluid and she looks him right in the eye the whole time, grinning and groaning and sighing.

Eleanor gives herself permission to enjoy.

"I love you," Loki says, lips moving against hers as they both attempt to catch their breath after a most satisfying conclusion.

Eleanor sighs and cannot imagine being happier than she is in this perfect moment.

* * *

 

Eventually, Loki hauls her out of the shallow pool, pulling her under a warm waterfall where she scrubs at her hair, conjuring some shampoo to make it count.  They explore a bit more, Loki sharing his knowledge on the flora unique to this one spot in all twenty-seven realms. She teases him for his encyclopedia-type brain but then insists he tell her the history of this place. 

They find another pool, this one the temperature of a hot tub rather than a warm bath.  Eleanor groans as she sinks into it and reaches up to braid her hair around her head like a crown.

"I've run into a bit of a problem," Loki says, pulling her foot into his lap and massaging it absently.

"Oh?" It seems nothing could kill her joy right now.  She hopes Loki doesn't try.

"The Shield of Gold," he mutters.

"That big sphere that went up around the palace during the attack? Clever name."

"Indeed.  It was completely destroyed by that damnable beast. He scorched it, making not even the materials usable," Loki says. When he frowns Eleanor knows he’s thinking of the much more precious thing the creature stole. His fingers dig into her arch and it hurts a bit.

"Uh oh."

"Indeed," Loki says.  "Uh oh, indeed.  This was an ancient device, predating even Bor, even Bor's grandfather."

"Can you rebuild it?"

"We have the knowledge, but not the materials."

She finishes braiding and sits up a bit straighter.  "Can you get the materials?"

"Perhaps," he says, very carefully.

"Just spit it out.  What are you plotting?"

“It's not plotting," he snaps.  "It's _ruling_."

"Loki."

"The materials required to rebuild are unique to Jotunheim, mined leagues beneath the icy surface."

She slumps back against the side of the pool.  "Damn."

"Exactly," Loki says with a chuckle.  "For the past two weeks I've been presented with proposal after proposal for alternatives from the very best in Asgard, but they all fall far short of the original model."

"So you want the original."

"Yes, although the possibility has not yet been discussed.  This is the first time I am verbalizing the option."

"And what exactly is the option?" she asks, her heart sinking.  "Invade Jotunheim?  Take what you want?"

Loki sighs.  "It would be the easiest course of action, but I knew you would disapprove."

"Damn right, I disapprove."  She pulls her foot from his grip and crosses her arms over her chest.  At some point, if he keeps going the way he’s going, it will be too much, he'll push her too far, and she'll either be forced to turn into someone she doesn't like or leave.  She wonders if colonizing his native world will do it.

"Calm yourself, Eleanor," he says, rubbing his temples.  "I will not do this.  Mostly for you, but also because between the years of chaos following the destruction of the Bifrost and the attack from the elves, Asgard has have quite enough of war.  And so have I."

She melts with relief and puts her feet back in his lap. "So what are you thinking, then?"

"Something that will cause quite the stir."

"Yeah?" she asks, liking the idea of anything that challenges the elite Aesir.

"Trade," he says.  "Assistance in rebuilding what I destroyed with the Bifrost all those years ago, help feeding their large destitute population in exchange for the minerals required for reconstructing the Shield of Gold."

"I like it."

"Yes," he says, smiling.  "Now if only convincing my advisers, many of whom lived thought the last war, would be so easy."

* * *

 

After a mere four days spent in the mountains, they reluctantly return to the capitol. Odin gets settled in his tower, perfectly happy to be returned home. After a long day on horseback and the prospect of all there is to do tomorrow, it is a relief to lay down with Loki in their bed and close her eyes.

Approximate four seconds later, Neela is banging on the door, announcing that Thor and his mortal are waiting in the throne room.

* * *

 

"You look really good," Jane says when Eleanor opens the door to the second late night visitor in the last half hour.

She throws her arms around Jane. Last she saw her friend they were in a cave on the Dark World, Jane off to save the world and Eleanor in a state of total shock.

"Hi," says Jane, returning the hug.

"Hi."  There are a few tears in her eyes and she brushes them away when Jane lets go a moment later. “Come in.” 

“So, how are you?” Jane asks, her face a picture of sorrow and concern. “You look good. Like… too good.”

Eleanor shrugs. “I’m doing better. As good as can be expected, I guess.”

"Is this... Were these Loki's rooms?"

"How could you tell? Did all the green give it away?" she asks, leading Jane to a couch and pouring them each a goblet of wine.

"Ellie, come on,” Jane says, accepting the wine as Eleanor curls up against the arm of the couch.  “You are like living in a shrine to him.  That can't be healthy."

"I just told you, Jane," Eleanor says.  Although she decided to enjoy this life while they were in the mountains, the guilt returns now.  These circumstances don't add up to the ever-analytical Jane.  She is missing variables and for all she knows, Eleanor should be a grieving mess.  "I'm doing better.  I've taken over a lot of Frigga's duties and singing with the kiddos helps."

"So instead of coming home to be with the people who love you, you are here, helping Odin, who you hate, and acting as queen of the gods?"  By the end of her spiel, Jane is a bit hysterical and to her this all must seem overwhelming and huge.

In every letter exchanged in the last few months, Jane’s asked the same question. _When are you coming home?_

"Odin isn't so bad now that he's lost so much," Eleanor says. This, at least, is no lie.  "And I have this duty to Frigga, even to Loki, to carry out my responsibilities here.  There's no one else and I'm good at it.  I've got purpose here, Jane."

The scientist is not convinced.  Eleanor is not surprised that the scientist is not convinced.  If Loki were really dead, she'd definitely be back on Midgard, barely functioning, probably drinking constantly.

"Look, I don't want to fight with you.  That's not why we're here."

"Right. Thor's here too." Eleanor says, sitting up a little straighter and wondering what her brother in law could possibly be discussing with his father who is actually his brother. It’s the same thing she’s been wondering since Neela banged on the door.

"You sound surprised."

Eleanor nods and sips her wine.  "Well, yeah.  It's only been a couple months.  I thought he'd still be settling into life on Earth."

"We're getting married!"  The words burst out of Jane's mouth so quickly it takes Eleanor's brain a minute to catch up.

"Wait," she says.  “What?"

"I know, I know.  It seems so fast, given that we were broken up, but I love him.  I do and he apologized for everything with the Bifrost.  And..."  Jane bites her lip and looks away.

"And?"

"Well, I guess Loki at some point reminded Thor that we really don't have that much time before I die.  I guess he wanted Thor to protect his heart from the whole me dying while Thor is still relatively young, thing.  Instead we are getting married," Jane babbles.  "Is it okay?  Talking about Loki?"

Eleanor tries to look sad, like she's fighting tears.  Nodding her head, she clears her throat.  "Yeah.  It's like proof he was real and not horrible.  Not many people here miss him, not like we do."

It's a little terrifying, how easy it is to lie to her best friend.

“Yeah,” murmurs Jane.

This was probably not the proper reaction to such happy news.

"Wow," Eleanor says, smiling now.  She scoots closer to give Jane another hug.  "Congrats."

"Thanks.  I thought it might be rough, you know.  So soon after..."

"It is actually less rough. You guys together and happy makes me happy.  And Loki would have been secretly thrilled."

Jane laughs.  "A deep, dark secret, maybe."

"So when is all this going down?"

"We are thinking like a month, maybe two?”

Eleanor’s eyebrows go way up.

“It’s spring now and I want to do it outside, when it’s not too hot.  Nothing fancy or in any public spaces for obvious, superhero, god-related reasons.  Maybe we’ll set up a tent on the compound property."

"An Avenger wedding," she says, cracking a smile.  "In a month maybe two. Awesome."

"Again, we are bucking tradition.  Tony's already decided to get registered to perform the service so that's obviously going to be ridiculous.  And I figure it will just be you and Darcy in the wedding."

Eleanor nearly chokes on her wine.  "You want me in the wedding?"

"Of course."

"How the hell am I supposed to do bridesmaid things from here?"

Very deliberately Jane straightens in her seat and places her goblet on the table.  "You are staying here."

"Yeah," Eleanor drawls, rolling her eyes and wondering if Jane's been paying attention.

Jane frowns.  "You are serious."

"Yeah."

"Eleanor, you need to come home."

"Why?"

"Your family is worried about you."

"They can visit me here."

"Odin's okay with that?"

"I can handle Odin."  And she does.  Everyday when he gets hungry. Last week she gave him some supplies for sketching after he colored one of Frigga’s grimoires and Loki freaked out. He’s been totally consumed with charcoal and parchment since.

"Since when?"

"Since we're both widows, Jane.”  She snaps and then takes a deep breath.  "I'm not going anywhere."

"But it doesn't make sense!  Why do you want to stay here?  Do you like the power?  Is that it?  That crown you wear, going to your head. Are you more like Loki than anyone realized?"

Eleanor's only answer for that lovely accusation is to glare.  She crosses her arms over her chest and does so.  Jane glares right back.

They both jump, ending the impromptu staring contest when the door to Eleanor's rooms slam open. 

"Jane!" booms the God of Thunder.

"Right here!" says Jane.

Thor stomps on over, red faced and furious, ham hands fisted at his side.  "Odin is an old man and a fool!"

"Didn't that statement get you banished once?" asks Eleanor, turning back to her wine.

"This time it is true!" insists Thor.  He leans down to kiss Eleanor's forehead.  "Hello, Sister."

"What's up?"

"He refuses to come," continues Thor.  "And how fare thee, Eleanor?  You look well.  Are you ready to come back to the New Mexico with us?"

"She's good.  No, she is stubbornly refusing to leave.  And who refuses to come where?” Jane asks.

“My father! Although he raised no further objections to my union with a mortal, he refuses to attend the festivities.”

If Loki isn’t going, Eleanor can’t go. The distance allowed between them keeps growing but there’s no way she could get all the way to fucking Midgard without her husband.

“I’ll work on it,” Eleanor says.

“Work on it?” Thor repeats, gaping down at her. “Since when does Father listen to you?”

Eleanor shrugs. “Since I’m the only one left.”

The engaged couple leave not long after, defeated and saddened despite their happy news.

* * *

 

“I had to say no,” Loki announces when he enters Odin’s tower the next day. “Odin would have said no. So I had to say no.”

At the sound of his name, the former king glances up from his stew to squint at Loki. “Blue?”

“I told you,” Eleanor murmurs, reaching out to rub his shoulder. “Thor is getting married. To Jane.”

“Goats and thunder,” Odin mutters, turning back to his dinner.

“Yes, Father,” says Loki, taking the chair across from Eleanor. She’s stunned to hear Loki call Odin ‘Father’, but he doesn’t appear to notice his own slip back into old habits. “Thor is marrying a mortal. I married only a half-mortal. Who’s the more dutiful son now?”

Eleanor rolls her eyes as Odin blinks at Loki for a moment before he finishes his meal and leaves the table, headed up to the sunny room Eleanor converted into a sort of art studio when Odin’s obsession with sketching became obvious.

“We have to go,” Eleanor says.

“We cannot go.”

“We have to.”

“You just want to see all your pathetic mortal friends.”

“Sure, but Jane is already suspicious of my decision to stay on Asgard. What do you think she’ll do if I don’t show for the wedding? Have you ever known Jane to stop until she finds her answer?”

Loki sighs heavily.

* * *

 

The ceremony is lovely, short, sweet, and perfect for the unconventional couple, the astrophysicist and the god.  It takes place in a tent setup on the Stark Complex property and Eleanor sits in the front row, next to Loki.  The whole thing is much more moving than she predicted with Iron Man conducting the ceremony and she wants to hold Loki's hand, but he is playing Odin at the moment so she can't.

After, there is a party in another tent.  The food is plentiful and Midgardian, much to Volstagg's delight, and the alcohol flows freely, much to the delight of everyone else. 

It is a superhero reunion and Eleanor doesn’t feel so small compared to them, unlike when she first met these powerful people nearly a decade ago after Loki's misguided invasion attempt.  Now she is magic.

She catches up with Tony and Pepper, keeping an eye on Loki (Odin) loitering alone at a table in the back, steadily drinking and looking mildly disgusted. 

For once Jane does not beg and plead for Eleanor to move back to New Mexico.  Instead she can't stop smiling and hugging everyone in the general vicinity.  Thor wears that same delighted look.

Darcy takes it upon herself to introduce Eleanor to the new faces.

"Sam," she says, dragging Eleanor to a table occupied by Steve and a stranger.  An extremely handsome stranger with the world's best smile.  "May I present, her royal highness, Princess Eleanor Tate of Asgard."

Steve chuckles and shakes his head while the beautiful stranger's eyes go wide.

"Jesus, fuck, Darcy," mutters Eleanor.  "Did you really have to say all that?  And on Asgard technically it is Bragadóttir."

"Whatever."

"You don't sound like a princess," says Sam the Stranger.  "And you really don't talk like an Asgardian."

"Yeah, well," Eleanor replies, shrugging and taking a seat.  Darcy helps herself to Steve's lap.  "I'm half-mortal, didn't even find out about the whole alien gig until I was already a grown up."

"Oh," says Sam, sitting straight up in his chair and snapping his fingers.  "I've heard about you.  You were married to the dude who tried to invade Earth, Thor's little brother."

Eleanor winces. "Yup.  That's me."

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Princess."

Eleanor winces again.  "I really don't use the title while I'm here."

"Is that a tiara?" asks Sam.

"Darcy made me," replies Eleanor.  "She really wanted to see it."

"And it's super lame," Darcy says.  "Tiny and not at all flashy."

"Like me," replies Eleanor.

Darcy snorts.  "You might be tiny, but look at what you're wearing!  Definitely flashy."

It is one of the more simple gowns in her wardrobe.

"Don't let Darcy get you down," says Sam, leaning back in his chair, tilting onto two legs.  "You are stunning."

In response a totally hysterical laugh bursts from her chest.  Steve, Darcy, and Sam all look appropriately concerned.  She sounds nothing like a princess, and nothing like herself, but it's been a long time since any not-Loki person complimented her so blatantly and flirtatiously.  They wouldn't dare on Asgard, even with her husband supposedly dead.

"Ellie, what the fuck?" asks Darcy.

Eleanor clears her throat and shakes her head.

"So I take it that means you don't want to dance?" asks Sam, remarkably unfazed by her bizarre behavior.

“My husband died four months ago so extreme no,” she murmurs as a hand grips her shoulder.

"Your highness!" squeaks Darcy.

Loki uses Odin's face to look at them all with utter contempt so no one else attempts to greet the king.

"Eleanor," says her disguised husband.  "Dine with me."

She nods and rises, linking her arm through Odin's (Loki's) and grins over her shoulder at a gaping Darcy as she departs for the buffet.

* * *

 

"SHIELD is no more," says Loki as he wipes his hands and pushes his plate away.

"Wait," says Eleanor.  "What?"

"According to Thor, it was destroyed several months ago from the inside out.  I did not bother to remember the details."

"Dude!"

"Your dear friend Steve Rodgers saved the day and blew it up or something.  With the help of his friend the bird who was so eager to compliment you."

Eleanor rolls her eyes and sips her wine.  "So there is just... no more SHIELD?"

"Supposedly.  Although Director Fury faked his own death but is still out there somewhere, attempting to continue saving this world or some drivel."

"Faked his death huh?" Eleanor says with a smirk.  "What a crazy thing to do!"

* * *

 

"Father."  Thor, looking sharp in a fine suit that is probably making Loki in his Odin face quake with jealousy, embraces the king after dinner is done and most of the guests find their way to the dance floor.  "I still can’t believe you are here.”

“Yes,” says the king, glancing at Eleanor. “It was brought to my attention that I would come to regret missing such an occasion, even if I disapprove.”

"Sister?" asks Thor, gazing at her in wonder.  "This is your doing?"

She shrugs.

"In exchange, the princess is taking all the meetings with all the broken-hearted would-be prospects so I do not have to sit through the whining," says the Loki/Odin.

"Yeah, it's brutal," Eleanor says, groaning.  "You've had way too many high born ladies pinning for you for centuries.  I'm probably not as sympathetic to their disappointment as I should be."

Jane opens her mouth as she certainly has something to say about that, but then Tony Stark is looping his arm through Eleanor's, dragging her towards the dance floor.

"Sorry, your godliness," calls Iron Man over his shoulder.  "I haven't seen Madonna here in years and she owes me a dance."

She falls into step with him and they sway among the many superheroes and SHIELD agents (former SHIELD agents, maybe). Even her family is in attendance, Laura with her kids and her husband, Maureen, who has been engaged in conversation with Erik Selvig of all people since the reception started. 

"You could have just asked me, you know," she says, fighting her grin.

"And risk you rejecting me?  You are like a princess for real now.  My ego couldn't take it."

Eleanor snorts.  Tony chuckles with her for a moment before his eyes get sad, his mouth gets serious.

"How are you?" he murmurs.

She winces and drops her gaze, well practiced at faking grief.  When she thinks of Frigga dead on the ground, the pain is no longer fraudulent.

"I'm... busy," she says.  For whatever reason, lying to Tony is harder than lying to Jane and Thor. 

"Busy?"

"Yeah.  There is so much to do.  And since the queen... well, I've taken over some of her duties and it keeps me busy, gives me purpose."

"I'm so sorry, Ellie."

She nods.

"I liked him, you know. He was a scheming, irritating, evil son of a bitch, but I liked him.  I've never met anyone smarter."

"He liked you too."

"He did not."

"He wouldn't say it, but he liked you."

The song ends.  Tony kisses her forehead and leaves to find Pepper.  Eleanor intends to move back to Loki, but this time it is Darcy that intercepts. Again.

* * *

 

She meets Bucky Barnes, Steve's childhood friend who apparently did not die in WWII.  He is quiet and self-conscious of his metal arm, but the haunted look in his eyes is familiar.  Loki carried around a similar burden. She still sees a hint of that old trauma in her husband, when he wakes from a nightmare or when he gets lost in memory, but Loki managed to heal with her here in New Mexico. 

From what she understands, Bucky had even less agency than Loki, and no sense of self. While Loki was remade, Bucky was totally erased, but he agrees to dance with Darcy and smiles when Steve whispers in his ear, so Eleanor thinks he'll be all right.

She catches up with her family.  Even with all her letters reassuring them that she's okay, they feel the need to hug her a lot to make sure for themselves.

She dances with Steve and then with Thor.  She eats cake and drinks wine.  Jane has never been happier. Darcy's toast is hilarious and Thor requests they drink to his deceased brother, Loki, who would have been Thor's best man, if he lived. To get through it, Eleanor stares at her feet and glances at Loki hiding in plain sight to assure herself that he didn't actually die. When Thor talks of Frigga and the importance of family, Eleanor really does cry.

And then Thor asks Eleanor to sing, gives her half an hour and hopes that she'll keep it happy.  Clint Barton, who makes a shockingly competent DJ, evacuates the stage to join Natasha Romanoff and Bruce Banner at the bar.

She stands before a tent full of mortals.  They are her friends and although some are strangers, most she is at least acquainted with from her time at Stark.  She knows them but as she stands on the stage all she sees are the differences. 

Years of Princess Lessons, and it was Frigga's death and Loki's kingship that truly transformed Eleanor into an Asgardian, and a royal one at that.  She stands, straight, tall, and proud.  The delicate tiara, so like the ring on her left hand, is no longer heavy but a familiar weight.  Although she selected her simplest dress, a long, black sheath with geometric cut outs spanning the neckline, it is still belted with metal that is engraved in the shape of Loki's horned helmet. She no longer looks so mortal.

Since moving to Asgard, she's wanted nothing more than to return to their simple life here in the desert but as she stands, looking at the people she really does love, she doesn't think simple would be enough.

They know the mortal.  To them, she is Ellie, small, quiet, brash, but that is not a complete picture.

She's Asgardian too and it's long past time she shows them.

Taking a deep breath, she lifts her hands and a full orchestra of instruments appears around her, floating in air, waiting her direction.  From the audience she hears gasps.  They've certainly heard of Eleanor and her magic, but seeing is a different thing altogether.

She closes her eyes and shows them what she can do.

* * *

 

They wander through the old house, cataloging changes Thor and Jane have made and quietly remembering.  The other non-Midgardians – Sif, Sigyn, Fandral, Volstagg, and Hogun – who attended the wedding, went home when the festivities concluded long after midnight, but Loki and Eleanor snuck away to wander through what is left of an old life.

It's been a little over two years since they lived here, but it seems so much longer.

In the next lot over, Thor and Jane are building their own house.  Eleanor assured them that they could stay in the house Loki gave her as an apology, but Jane insisted on creating her own home now that she’s back from London.  The couple is gone now, off on their honeymoon.

"Do you miss it?" asks Loki as Eleanor pokes her head into the untouched music room.  He leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest and she can feel his gaze following her.

"Yes," she murmurs.  "But not as much as I thought I would."

"I do."

She turns, totally shocked.

"Well, no," he corrects, flashing her a bashful grin.  "I miss the time we had here, the relative freedom.  It was rare for us to be apart for more than an hour or two then. Now there are meetings and duties and demands on both our time."

"So," she says, approaching him slowly.  "What you really miss is me."

He lunges forward and she squeaks in surprise as he pulls her to his chest.  "Pathetic, is it not?"

"I don't mind," she says, settling with her head on his chest.  "They were scared of me, Loki.” 

"Good."

"Even some of the Avengers and Darcy and my family.  They haven't seen much magic.  Knowing is different than seeing."

"You were brilliant."

"Maybe.  But here on Midgard I always have to be cautious, you know?  Strange how Asgard, with all its problems and bigotry, is where I feel most comfortable being myself," she mutters.

Loki snorts.  “I cannot image."

"Yeah, well you spend little time as yourself these days."

"Only with you."

They are quiet, and as they linger in the music room, the sky starts to lighten.

"Do you want to watch the sunrise on your rocks?" she asks.

"I've married a master of intellect. Come."

They sit on the rock where Loki reclaimed his mind as the sun comes up in a dazzling array of colors that brings out the reds and oranges of New Mexico.

"Let's go home," she says as the earth warms.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Eleanor on board with the great lie and a wedding! I told you it was packed.
> 
> So this isn't common knowledge, but reviews are the cure for carpal tunnel.
> 
> Jeeze, that was shameless.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading. I really hope you will be hearing from me very soon.


	19. The Reality of Rule

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there. Remember me? Two months and no update. That's just unacceptable and I will endeavor to do better. For some reason this chapter was just a real struggle for me.
> 
> The good news! A good chunk of the next chapter is done.  
> The bad news (for you, at least). I am about to go to Spain and Morocco for two and a half weeks, so it's still going to be a bit of time until the next update.
> 
> You all amaze me for sticking with this story and being so damn insightful when you talk to me about it. Truly. Thank you.
> 
> betaed by Heather!

“Good morning, Princess.”

“Morning,” Eleanor replies as Neela falls into step at her side.   “We’re going to have to walk and talk. I’m late for training with Sif and she’s scary when kept waiting.”

“The lady Sif is always scary in my experience.”

Eleanor’s footsteps falter as she gapes up at the formerly shy servant. “Was that a joke, Neela?”

She cracks a smile. “Perhaps.”

“Wow, all these years together and I finally get a joke. So what’s up?”

“This morning you are to meet with the Allfather and the gatekeeper. You should really not be late,” says Neela.

Eleanor nods and walks a little faster. Her whole day is off because of Loki and his unwillingness to let her out of bed this morning before giving her multiple orgasms.

She can’t find it in her to be overly upset about her current lateness.

“Then you have luncheon with Lady Zara. And then you are due to visit Lady Meryn after.”

Eleanor winces, as visiting Ido’s widow and their small son is never pleasant. Meryn very obviously blames Eleanor for the loss of her husband, although she never fails to accept the excess gold Eleanor hands over to supplement the month coinage provided by the crown.

In the two years since Ido, Frigga, and hundreds of others died in the attack, life remains hard for Meryn and those like her. The City of Tents is long disbanded, there is no visible lingering damage, and everyone has gone home, but no amount of coinage will make the loss any easier.

“Your little musicians are meeting this evening if you’d like to make an appearance,” Neela continues.

“I really need to find someone to teach them regularly,” Eleanor mutters.

“I’ll have a new round of candidates for you next week. You’ve correspondence from Heimdall.”

Eleanor grimaces at the thick parchment thrust into her hands. She flips through the stack, ignoring a letter from Jane for now as it is sure to be filled with demands for Eleanor to come home and smiling over one from Darcy, sure to be filled with hilarious tales of her new adventure living with Captain America himself.

A final letter gives her pause.

“Is this…” She turns to Neela and taps a fingernail on the embossed front.

“The royal seal of Empress Oza of Vanaheim,” supplies Neela. “Yes.”

“What the hell could Oza want?” she mutters, pausing her march towards the training yard to fumble with the letter. “She was just here for the 2nd Remembrance Day, all terrifying and hating me and powerful. What could she possibly want?”

“I am sure she does not hate you,” says Neela as Eleanor reads.

“She does. I am a half mortal abomination.” Eleanor quickly finishes the letter. “What the fuck?”

“Princess?”

“She wants to come back in a couple months to help me plan the 3rd Remembrance Day! Like I didn’t do just fine with the last two. Why does she even need to be here at all?” Eleanor says, throwing a minor fit.

“Eleven Vanir did die in the attack of the Dark Elves,” Neela says, being annoyingly reasonable. “They were her people.”

“I can’t tell her no? Thank but no thanks. I can’t just say ‘I don’t need your help, terrifying goddess?’”

“Not without insulting Empress Oza greatly.”

“Perfect. And now I’m really late. Sif is going to kill me.”

* * *

 

Running through a crowded throne room in a billowing golden dress - with green detail, God forbid she forget the green - is difficult. Eleanor steps on toes and garners her fair share of irritated looks. 

Despite her popularity with the people, the affections of the ruling class of Aesir have waned since Frigga's passing.  Most either love her or hate her and to those who hate her, rushing through the throne room is an atrocity to end all atrocities.

The door to the war room is in sight, closed at the moment with a pair of Einherjar stationed on either side. 

She pauses to catch her breath and compose her posture into something a bit more royal before approaching the doors at a reasonable pace.

Her progress is once more delayed as Wilhelm, one of her least favorite of Odin's advisers, puts himself between her and her destination.

"Princess," he says, bowing deeper than is necessary, bowing so deep it is mocking and his long grey beard nearly scrapes the floor.  "May I be of any assistance?"

"Nope."

"Nope?" he asks, confused.

"Means no," she supplies.  "I don't need your help.  Now, if you'll excuse me."

She attempts to step around the bigoted old coot.  Once again, he steps between her and the door.

"If you mean to see the Allfather than I'm afraid you will be disappointed.  He is in a closed, secretive meeting with Heimdall until luncheon."

Eleanor rolls her eyes.  "I am aware.  Excuse me."

"I cannot allow you to disturb him.  Not even I know what is being discussed in that room, therefore it is of great import."

"I won't be disturbing him."

"He is far too lenient with you.  Preventing your interruption will—“

"Eleanor!"  In the now open doorway to the war room, is her husband, tall and intimidating and glaring.  Although she sees only Loki, the rest see Odin and she's been on the other side of the Allfather's glare.  It is rather unpleasant.  "You are late," he snaps.

She spares Wilhelm a smirk before stepping around him and strutting into the room.

"What was that?" hisses Loki as he closes the door behind her.

"Nothing new," she replies.  "And certainly nothing I can't handle.  Good morning, Heimdall."

"Hello, Princess," he replies, nodding once.  His huge golden helmet sits on the table and without it he looks strange.  He has far less hair than she envisioned.

"Sorry I'm late," she says, taking her seat next to the king’s, across from the gatekeepers.  "Training with Sif went long.  I wasn't paying attention to the time.  It was entirely my fault."

"It is no bother, Princess.  It gave our king and I ample time to take breakfast and 'catch up' as your Midgardian brethren are fond of saying."

Eleanor gives him a genuine smile.

"Yes, yes," says Loki, taking his seat.  "But now we must begin.  Heimdall, if you will."

The gatekeeper gives them the Asgardian equivalent of a PowerPoint presentation.  He projects maps of Jotunheim and images of Jotunns directly from his head into the air as he details all he's come to know since Loki asked him to keep closer tabs on the ice world. 

Years have different meaning here on the Realm Eternal. On Midgard, two years would be far too long to wait, simply observing while the defenses to the palace remain insufficient.

On Asgard, two years is nothing. A blink. A heartbeat.

Still, the gatekeeper’s magic here is fascinating and Eleanor vows to get Loki to teach her when they have a spare minute.

If they ever have a spare minute ever again.

They will probably never have a spare minute ever again.

"Since the fall of Laufey," says Heimdall, "there has been chaos, as you know.  In recent years, this chaos has evolved into what can reasonably be called civil war.  There are two factions, led by the late king's daughters."

In the years since he started this rouse, Loki's skills of lying have improved exponentially.  Outside their rooms, his every twitch and reaction is all Odin.  Although he was talented before, now he is flawless and despite this shocking news, he remains stoic, as impassive as a mountain.

Eleanor is not nearly as mountain-like.

"Daughters of Laufey?" she asks, sitting up a little straighter in her chair.  "So, like..."

"Elder sisters of your late husband?  Of the king's late son?  Yes.  The daughters are called Lau and Fey."

"Holy shit," mutters Eleanor.  " Lau and Fey?  Really?  He named them Lau and Fey? _Really_?"

"They are twins," Heimdall says as if this explains the dead king’s criminal naming.  "And now they lead factions, each vying for power."

Images of two nearly identical Jotunns appear above the table.  They are massive and blue, with red eyes and leather clothes.  Their faces and indigo runes appear the same, as do their sets of small horns at the crown of their heads, but their hairstyles differentiate them.

One has long dark hair, dreadlocked and braided in a pleat pulled over her shoulder. 

The other's hair is black as well, shaved on the sides into what would be a mohawk if it was loose, but it too is braided back.  On the sides of her head are more lines but they are a pale blue rather than indigo.

"What are the markings on her head?" asks Eleanor.

"Scars," replies Heimdall.  "Lau adds marks to her skin of the skull after great victories in battle."

"Fuck," says Eleanor.

"Language," says Loki, breaking character just a little bit.  "Please, Heimdall. Continue.”

"Lau leads the warriors. Where Laufey was power-hungry and blood-thirsty, he was also realistic with at least some sense of diplomacy.  He was an extremist who sought to breed his people into a more fearsome class of warrior but also accepted Asgard’s might and the truce you offered, Allfather.  Lau inherited her father's cruelty and fanaticism, but none of his caution.”

Eleanor shivers. 

“She will die before she will surrender and once she seizes control fully her gaze will turn to Asgard or the other realms,” continues Heimdall.  “She is undeniably dangerous as she would gladly die, gladly send all Jotunns to the slaughter if it meant taking the Aesir with them.  We discussed all this before the Dark Elves, if you recall, Allfather.  You chose then to monitor the situation.  Lau is still far from having the power to confront Asgard, but if she continues on this path undeterred she will get there eventually."

Loki grunts and nods.

"And what about the other one?" asks Eleanor, shivering slightly as she looks at Lau with her head scars.  "Fey."

"While Lau has the military," replies Heimdall, "Fey has the people. Before her father’s death, she was a birther and worked in Jotunn nurseries with infants.  Her disagreement with many of her father's policies was well known, garnering her the love of the lower classes.   Fey has the numbers with her as the population is mostly made up of miners and ice farmers, but not the might.  Still they fight, using stealth and sabotage rather than meeting Lau in open battle.  The conflict has thus far been long and bloody.  It will likely continue on for sometime, if no one intervenes."

Again, Loki grunts and nods.

For a few moments, all is silent.  Eleanor takes the time to get her head around all she's learned.  With the exception of the father Loki killed, Eleanor never gave his birth family much thought. 

It is difficult to imagine, Loki with sisters. 

She wonders what happened to their mother and sits on her hands to resist the overwhelming urge to reach out for her husband, to take his face between her palms and look in his eyes, making sure he's reminded that no matter what, she is with him.  She is his family.

"So," she says, clearing her throat.  "We should intervene, right?"

The gatekeeper and the princess both look at the king.

Loki grunts and nods.

The projections above them shift to maps and strategy and Eleanor tries very hard to pay attention.  Mostly she thinks of Loki's sisters, Fey with her long pleats of black hair, chin held high, and Lau, scars dug into her own skull, proud marks of blood spilled.

* * *

 

“Did you know about them?” she whispers, lifting her cheek from his naked chest to blink at him in the dark.

Loki sighs although this line of questioning can’t be unexpected after their meeting today with Heimdall. As she has learned to do over the years, she left him alone for most the day, through the dinner they shared with Odin and the furious fucking that followed.

There will be no good time to discuss this, but when he is sated and sleepy is her best bet.

“No,” he murmurs.

Instead of grumbling or snapping or trying to distract her with the prospect of more furious fucking, he actually answered. It’s a good sign.

“You knew nothing? Even when you killed Laufey, you didn’t have any idea who would be left to rule?” She’s skeptical. It’s such a huge detail to overlook and nothing like her meticulous husband.

“I was distressed!” he says, sitting up slightly. “I also decided destroying Jotunheim would be the best course of action to prove my worth to my father even though Thor was banished for the same thing days before. Logic was not with me. I did not know or care to know who was left to take Laufey’s place.”

Eleanor crawls up his chest to kiss the corner of his mouth, calming him somewhat.

“Fey seems pretty badass,” she says.

“Enough, Eleanor.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I know not. I must think on it.” He rolls away from her, settling on his side. She pouts for a moment before he reaches back, pulling her arm until she gets the memo and spoons herself around his back.

“I’m your family,” she says, lacing her fingers through his. She speaks into his shoulder blade. “You will always have me but would it be so bad for you to meet Fey?”

“She is not family, Eleanor. Stop this ridiculous notion now. I am unsure if I can trust any of Laufey’s offspring and will never see the less wicked of his children as anything but a possible ally, a means to an end, someone to use to get the materials I require to keep Asgard and you on it, safe. Now sleep.”

“Okay. Fine.”

“Good.”

“Great!’

Loki falls silent but remains tense even when she presses their combined hands into his chest and her nose into his back.

“I can tell by your tone you do not believe me when I say this is merely political,” he mutters.

Eleanor snorts. “Really? How perceptive of you.”

Grumbling all the while, Loki thrashes around until he is free of the blankets and sitting up in bed. Eleanor watches, trying not to be amused by his little tantrum.

“Odin knew all this,” he says, gesturing wildly. “Surely, he knew that I was third in succession behind Laufey’s daughters. His entire plan when taking me was predicated on the assumption that I would one day rule Jotunheim, a readymade ally to Asgard as I was raised by its people, believing myself to be one of them for so long. He took me. He kidnapped Laufey’s heir. How could that have come to fruition with these two older heirs existing?”

Eleanor shrugs. “I don’t know. We could ask him.”

“No.”

“Maybe he just took you without thinking. Maybe you were just an innocent baby. New life in stark contrast to all that death of the war and something compelled him to pick you up so he did. Maybe all the political justification came later and at first he just wanted you.”

“You are ridiculous, Eleanor.” He reclines again, pulling her back into a position spooned around his back. “Sleep now.”

“Okay, Loki. Love you.”

In answer he mutters incomprehensibly into his pillow and tugs her a little closer.

* * *

 

Loki is tired.

He spent the morning enduring the ceaseless bickering of his council and various advisers. Although he knew his proposal to open trade with Jotunheim for the first time in two thousand years would be grounds for emotional debate, this is the third day of yammering and Loki is tired.

Ruling is a singularly exhausting occupation and on days such as this Loki struggles to remember why he sought the throne so desperately.

“Enough,” he says.

The room immediately quiets at his soft-spoken command, and Loki remembers why he chooses to wear Odin’s face day by day. For the first time he is listened to, respected, and admired. He basks in the positive attention for a moment before standing.

As he stands, all others stand also.

“We are in need of the rare minerals found only in the depths of Jotunheim to rebuild the palace defenses after the Dark Elves. Jotunheim is in need of lumber to rebuild the damage my son wrought with the Bifrost all those years ago as well as food. They are a broken people with factions still warring for rule. One faction is no enemy to Asgard and if we help the people rebuild their homes and feed their children we can sway support away from radical groups that could prove dangerous. I see no reason to keep from trading with Jotunheim and supporting one daughter of Laufey over the other. When I return from my luncheon you will present me with only logical, practical arguments. I have no need to hear you extol your prejudices further.”

Those gathered murmur their agreement and Loki sweeps out of the room.

At first he found their horror amusing. If their Asgardian sensibilities were so offended by giving Jotunheim wheat and wood, they would surely expire if they knew that a Frost Giant has sat on the throne of Asgard and successfully navigated such a period of rebuilding for over two years.

Still, in the last days his amusement has faded and the cruel beliefs of the Aesir grade on his nerves.

“Such monsters are incapable of something as civilized as trade,” said one official.

“Better these devils starve out of existence,” said another.

Loki stopped calling himself monster long ago, but he needs his wife now to remind him. He wonders what Odin would say to his advisers if he were in his right mind, if Loki were truly dead. Would the king defend his choice to raise a Frost Giant as his own?

It is a singularly unproductive train of thought.

Loki finds himself in front of the doors to Odin’s chambers. The food cart holding the Allfather’s lunch sits untouched in the hall. Eleanor typically dines with Odin for the midday meal, but it appears Loki is the first to arrive.

With a sigh, Loki pushes the cart inside, pulling the doors closed behind him and letting the illusion of Odin slip from his features.

The sound of voices draws him to the second level of the tower, to the sunny room where Odin prefers to spend his days sketching. Loki lingers undetected in the hall, listening to Odin speak to Eleanor.

“I know, you know,” the Allfather is saying. After so many months of silence it is strange to hear the king’s voice once more. It is quieter than it once was, unsure now where it was once commanding.

Several weeks ago Odin started speaking in full sentences once more and although names and specifics still baffle him, he is remarkably coherent.

“What do you know, Odin?” Eleanor asks.

“You know what I know. I know it.”

“Sorry, dude. I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Eleanor possesses much patience. A mere five minutes in the insane Allfather’s presence is often enough to drive Loki to acts of violence.

“Blue,” says Odin. Loki clenches his jaw. “Blue. Blue. I know what Blue did. I know what Blue continues to do. Blue, Blue, Blue.”

“His name is Loki. You should try and remember it. Loki is the name you gave him,” Eleanor says.

“Blue.”

“ _Loki_.”

“Blue.”

“Loki.”

In the hallway, Loki bites back a sigh.

“He was so small when I found him,” Odin murmurs. “So small and blue. He stopped being blue when I brought him into my arms. Such magic for something so small. Was it long ago?”

Loki leans against a wall, listening intently now.

“Yeah,” replies Eleanor. “It was a long time ago. A thousand years, or so. More, actually.”

“I know. I know. Before she died. Before he died, but didn’t actually die. And then when he did it again, died but didn’t truly die.”

“Right. Long before all that.”

“He was raised to rule,” Odin says. “He will be a good king. Yes, yes. Even if they don’t know. I know. You know. Blue knows.”

Loki feels the need to sit down. He’s often considered what course of action to take when Odin’s returned lucidity gave him understanding of Loki’s treachery.

But now Odin knows – simple, altered, and childlike as he may be – yet he expresses no distress or horror or outrage. He seems content to leave his beloved Asgard in Loki’s blue hands. Declaring Loki a good king is the most fatherly praise he’s ever received.

Loki continues to feel the need to sit down and his knees wobble, but instead he continues to listen.

“Wow,” says his wife. “You know. Okay. And you are okay with it?”

“Should I not be?” He sounds horribly confused. “I do not what to do it. I want to draw and paint and draw.”

“You can draw all you like, Odin.”

There is something resembling affection in his wife’s tone and Loki is not entirely sure he approves.

“They hurt him, you know. They hurt Blue.”

“I know they did,” whispers Eleanor.

“And still he didn’t tell.”

Loki blinks, unsure what the Allfather means by this.

“What didn’t he tell?” asks Eleanor.

“Secrets, secrets, our secrets. They hurt him, changed him, but he kept our secrets. He kept the secrets of this place. I am sure they wanted to know what Blue knows. I wonder how he kept our secrets.”

Loki lied. The titan asked, again and again, how to surpass Asgard’s defenses, how to access the weapons vault, in the event that the Tesseract find a home there. Loki claimed not to know and the titan did hurt him. Loki made himself forget, made himself believe his own lie, even as he allowed his animosity for his false family to grow until he was hate only.

And it did hurt. Oh, how it hurt.

“I did not think on it,” continues Odin. “On how they hurt him and how he kept our secrets. I did not think, not until he broke my brain.”

Odin laughs. The high-pitched giggle is so strange coming from the former Protector of the Nine Realms.

“I like my brain broken. I was angry before. Now it is quiet. May we dine?”

“Sure,” Eleanor says, expelling a great breath of air. Loki hears the legs of her chair scrape against the floor as she stands. “I’ll lay out lunch. Come down in a few minutes.”

Odin whistles the notes of Eleanor’s song and his wife appears, freezing when she sees Loki leaning against the wall. Her eyes go wide. Loki straightens up and turns, walking back down the stairs, away from the ever-baffling Odin. He can feel Eleanor follow and when he drops down into a chair at the table she slides into his lap.

Without preamble Loki kisses his wife, allowing the touch to ease the tension of the morning.

“Rough day so far?” Eleanor asks after a few moments.

Loki hugs his wife close, resting his face against her neck and nodding. She runs her fingers through his hair and Loki sighs.

“Did you hear all that?”

“I believe so. He’s very chatty today. I prefer him with a broken brain as well.”

“I love you,” she says.

“I am aware,” he replies, lifting his head to look at her properly.

“Are you hungry?”

“Famished.”

Eleanor kisses the corner of his mouth and leaves his lap to set out plates and platters of food. He gratefully accepts a goblet of wine as Odin totters down the stairs.

“Blue!” says the Allfather.

“Hello, Odin,” Loki replies, feeling unusually gracious.

The fallen king grins and gets far too close for Loki’s comfort.

“What?” demands Loki, recoiling.

“Blue.” Then, much to Loki’s deep horror and disgust, Odin leans down, dropping a quick kiss on Loki’s forehead before taking his seat on the other side of the table.

Loki freezes, shocked glare apparent on his face.

Eleanor laughs at his expression and suggests Loki drink his wine.

* * *

 

"Her resistance is waning, my king." 

When Loki enters the Bifrost Pavilion, the gatekeeper does not turn from his post. As it has been for many months, Heimdall's gaze is directed at Jotunheim, 

"So no real change, then," says Loki, using Odin's voice.  He sighs and leans heavily on Gungir, the staff of the king.

"She will not last," says Heimdall.  "As it is, she and her fellows have gone underground. And I do mean literally. They now live in the mines. Babes even and small children."

"This is not good news."

"No," agrees the gatekeeper.  "Why do you still hesitate?  It was my understanding that you decided to support Fey and her rebellion against the tyrannical reign of her sister."

"Yes," Loki says, well aware that it is long past time he act in this.  His hesitation is based solely on sentiment and it shames him so that all he seems capable of doing is watching through Heimdall.  "But there are many on the council very against my plan to trade with and equip one Jotunn faction over the other."

"You have circumvented the desires of your council before, my king."

Loki nods and grunts.

"Permission to speak freely, my king?"

Loki nods once more, curiosity getting the best of him.  Also, he hopes the gatekeeper will be able to spur him into action.  He's been unable to motivate himself and Eleanor seems equally willing to allow him to take his time.

But time runs out.

"These Jotunn, both the one in power who enslaves those weaker and the one leading the resistance.  They are daughter's of Laufey."

"They are."

"Making them relations to your son."

Loki grimaces, but Heimdall successfully pinpoints the source of his hesitation. Although Loki's successfully deceived the gatekeeper on his identity, this he has failed to keep secret. The reasons for his hesitation in this are obvious.

"You miss him."

Internally, Loki smirks.  It is always a joy to be reminded of the great success of his deception. 

Externally, Odin gives a solemn nod.

"The time to act is upon you, my king," says the gatekeeper.  "Wait much longer, and Lau will have secured her power and established a new order of enslavement on Jotunheim."

Loki nods, grunts, and retreats.

* * *

 

Although he managed to keep from waking her upon his late night departure Eleanor stirs as he slips back into bed after his meeting with the gatekeeper.

"You left?" she murmurs as Loki curls himself around her, pulling her back flush against his chest and holding her hand.

"Hush, my love. Sleep."

"Where did you go?  Heimdall?"

He sighs into her hair.  "Yes."

"How are your sisters?"

"Don't call them that!" he snaps.  His hand tightens on her hip and he lets go immediately upon this realization.

“Loki, you’ve been putting this off for months,” she says. “And I let you get away with it because it is complicated and if anyone understands fucked up sibling situations it’s me. But it’s time.”

Sighing, he holds her a bit closer and nuzzles into the back of her neck. She simply waits with characteristic patience until he surrenders to her request.

"The situation becomes more dire everyday for Fey and her resistance.  They've moved underground. Literally.  They have little food, virtually no weapons.  Without assistance it is only a matter of time before Lau's new order of forced labor overseen by the privileged few warriors will become entrenched."

"What are you going to do, Loki?"

He is silent for a long time, part of him hoping that Eleanor will fall back to sleep and leave him be but he can tell by her breathing that she is alert.  Too long, he's put off this decision.  There is no real reason for his hesitation other than an extreme repulsion at the idea of having anything to do with the creatures with who he shares blood.

"Do you think Sif capable of leading a covert mission to the frozen world?  Offering Fey our terms?"

"Yeah.  I definitely think she's up for that."

* * *

 

“Loki, get up,” Eleanor pokes him in the side of his head and he promptly burrows under his pillows.

“No,” he mutters.

“Come on, man,” says his ever-eloquent wife, attempting to tug away the pillow. Fortunately, she is miniscule and he holds his ground with ease. “You are meeting with the council in twenty minutes and I have that dignitary from Vanaheim to show around because apparently Oza herself wants to be involved in planning Remembrance Day next year for who the hell knows why and her visit to conduct said planning takes a great deal of planning.”

Blindly he seeks out any part of her. When his fingers close around her arm, Loki gives a good yank and Eleanor is back in bed with him. He gets his arms around her as she giggles.

“You are fully clothed,” he grumbles, still unwilling to open his eyes. “I disapprove.”

“And you are completely ridiculous,” Eleanor replies. ‘This can’t be a thing you do every morning.”

Loki groans when Eleanor kisses his temple and sits up, leaving him alone in bed once more.

“Come on,” she says. “We’ve got things to do.”

“Someone else can surely do it for one morning,” he says, opening his eyes just in time to get blinded as his wife throws open the drapes. He hisses and reaches for a pillow, but Eleanor is too quick and he is left alone in bed with nothing to hide under.

“No one else can do it. You’re the fake King of Asgard,” Eleanor replies.

Loki opens one eye again to see her scowling at the end of their bed. “Do not say fake,” he requests. “I have been very successfully ruling this realm for over two years. Nothing fake about that.”

“Except your identity.”

“Yes, you have me there. I do not think myself capable of leaving this bed,” he says, deathly serious.

“Too bad. Get up.”

“But, darling—”

“What is your deal lately?” she snaps. “It’s like you don’t want to do this anymore.”

Loki sits up abruptly, scrambling out of bed. He snaps his fingers, clothing his frame in black and green fabric only Eleanor will ever see. “I am merely tired. You keep me up far too late with your wanton behavior.”

Eleanor snorts.

“Tired,” he says again, trying to convince himself as he convinces her. “Nothing more.”

Ruling Asgard lost its appeal months ago, after the novelty of being listened to and the glow of victory left him. Although the realm flourishes and he should be basking in his own glory, Loki is dissatisfied.

He sought this so desperately and for so long that he is unwilling to admit that he finds the reality of rule to be tedious at the best of times and just another prison at the worst. The demands on his time are constant and he does not have the freedom to do anything spontaneously.

There is absolutely no time for mischief.

Ages ago, when Loki was deranged and Eleanor was his prisoner, she asked him why he wanted to rule so badly. “ _Sounds like a bum gig to me_ ,” she said.

At the time he did not understand how power could possibly be a negative. Is it not the ambition of every being to reach the pinnacle, to rule, no matter how unattainable this goal might be?

Eleanor proved the answer to be no.

Not everyone desires power, not everyone is raised to covet thrones, just Loki.

Now, he feels misinformed. In countless lessons with the Allfather it was never made clear how dreadfully dull the daily life of a king truly is. There are meetings and discussions and decisions to be made. The people are a needy group and faking empathy for said needs is an exhausting feat.

Every moment of his time is consumed by things he cares not for.

But he will not admit that he was wrong, that he spent the entirety of his long lifetime seeking this, only to discover that he wants it not.

And his wife cannot know, not after she was so against taking up this life of deceit in the first place. She is flourishing here as acting Queen of Asgard. How many times will Loki pull her out of a life she loves – musician, student – as he seeks his own satisfaction?

Eleanor continues to stare at him with narrowed eyes as he continues to prepare for the day with admittedly more enthusiasm than is natural.

As the years pass, concealing the truth from his wife becomes progressively more difficult and he does not attempt to do so often. The entirety of his life is and has always been a lie. He lives everyday as another until he can lock himself away with the songbird, but his dissatisfaction is the one thing he strives to keep hidden now.

He attempts to look as innocent as possible.

“Holy shit,” Eleanor says, eyes going wide. “You hate it.”

Loki fights ignorance, scrunching his brow and blinking at her in confusion. “Hate what, darling?”

“Don’t give me the puppy look,” she scolds. “You hate ruling.”

“Puppy look?”

“With the eyes and the lips and the whole thing. And stop changing the subject! You _hate_ _ruling_.”

“Eleanor,” he says with a sigh. “Ruling Asgard has been my life’s ambition since childhood. And our circumstance is far from ideal, but I am king. It is a great joy and you cannot deny that I excel in this.”

“Yeah,” she drawls, unimpressed. “I know all that, by you still hate doing it. I can’t believe it took me this long to figure it out.”

“Eleanor, you are talking nonsense.”

“Come on. Give it up.”

“I am extremely happy with my decision to fake my death and take over Odin’s duties.”

“When did you get so bad at this?”

“Bad at what?”

“Lying.”

Loki snorts. “I’ve successfully masqueraded as the Allfather for over two years, convincing his closest advisers, his son, and the all-seeing gatekeeper.”

“Fine,” Eleanor says with a roll of her eyes. “When did you get so bad at lying to me?”

“I do not lie.”

“Loki!”

Eleanor is truly angered now and Loki admits defeat. Shoulders slumping he rubs his left hand with his right. “Hate is not the appropriate word to describe how I feel in regards to ruling. And I’ve always been bad at lying to you.”

His wife groans and buries his face in her hands. “Un-fucking-believable,” she mutters.

“It is dreadfully dull,” he says, whining slightly. Truthfully, he’s been aching to confess this for months and to tell her now is a relief, even if he would rather her not know. “It is boring. I am bored with the decision-making and the shockingly easy-to-control politics of Asgard’s elite. That bit of intrigue with Jotunheim was momentarily compelling, but even that situation has grown dull with Fey advancing and honoring her agreements to trade with Asgard. The daily realties of rule are so tedious, Eleanor, I feel I might expire.”

He places his hand on her shoulders and Eleanor finally looks at him once again.

“Bored?” she asks, her voice breaking. “You can’t go off conquering or something crazy like that just because you are bored!”

Loki rolls his eyes. “Yes, my dear.”

Since beginning talks to open trade routes with Jotunheim for the first time in several thousand years, he’s concocted no great schemes and he has no plans to do anything that would make Eleanor hate herself for loving him.

Admittedly when he first considered the possibility of opening relations with Jotunheim he was slightly less bored but he would gladly take boredom over the sickness in his guts when he first heard the tale of Laufey’s two daughters.

Since Sif successfully brought Fey their terms and the amenable Frost Giant has used Asgardian provisions and weaponry to turn the tide, dullness once more reigns in Loki’s world.

“Fuck, Loki!” she says, suddenly irate once more.

“You are angry,” he observes.

“I’m frustrated,” she says, jerking away from him. “You wanted this so badly! And here we are now. I can’t believe this is my life, committing treason all over the place, basically queening it up. What the fuck do we do now?

Loki shrugs. “Endure.”

“Endure? That’s your solution?”

“There is no problem therefore we need no solution.”

“You’re miserable! Don’t you think that’s a problem?”

Loki shrugs again because misery is something he accepted as a constant long ago. He can endure in misery outside these rooms so long as Eleanor returns to him at the end of each monotonous day.

“Don’t you think you deserve to be happy?” she whispers.

Loki knows the answer she desires, but lying to her is difficult so he says nothing. She takes his silence for the no it is. For a moment his wife appears absolutely shattered but then her eyes narrow into a glare. She stomps off to their wardrobe, roughly pulling a black shall over her shoulders.

“I’m going to get Odin breakfast. You have a meeting.”

And then she disappears, leaving Loki to wish that his lying skills extended to his wife.

* * *

 

By the time Eleanor reaches the end of the secret tunnel that leads to the royal tower, she is no longer mad. Frustrated and sick with worry, but certainly not mad.

She pauses at the doorway.

Odin is extremely attuned to the feelings of others. He can always tell through body language or vibes or whatever when Eleanor and Loki have been fighting, so she takes a moment to collect herself before knocking on the door.

A couple months into this madness, Eleanor walked in on a very naked Allfather so now she always, always knocks. There is no response and by the third knock she takes the chance and opens the door, stepping out through the mirror into Odin’s empty bedroom. She makes the bed and folds a cloak, but Odin is remarkably clean and self-sufficient.

She finds him three levels down in a sunny room they long ago converted into an art studio. Of all the art supplies they’ve provided since, oils and canvas are his favorites.

Today Eleanor finds him lying flat on his back on top of a high, empty shelf, painting the ceiling.

“Good morning, Odin,” she greets.

He turns his head and the shelf creaks under his weight. There is purple paint in his beard and Eleanor makes a mental note to have Loki install some sort of scaffolding so Odin can paint the rest of the high ceiling without breaking his neck.

“Mortal,” he replies, reaching back up to the ceiling to smear some paint with his thumb.

“Come on, old man,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You know my name. And it’s half-mortal. Do you want breakfast?”

He hums the affirmative and climbs down the empty shelves. The drop is at least fifteen feet and Eleanor bites her lip to keep from getting overly motherly with the former Protector of the Nine Realms.

When he reaches her side she moves to exit the large, sunny room, but Odin snags her wrist, dragging her over to a large, covered canvas. He tugs on the sheet and watches her expectantly as she takes in the full length, life size portrait.

Odin paints like he is reliving the renaissance and typically favors depictions of glorious battle. Eleanor fully expects to fake some enthusiasm over another war epic, but this painting is different and suddenly grief hits Eleanor like a punch to the gut.

Odin has crafted something personal and moving and Eleanor can do nothing but gape.

Five super-realistic figures fill the canvas. It is like looking at a photograph and in the center is Frigga, smiling and warm. Gone is the edge of sorrow always present in the features of the queen Eleanor once knew. She is flanked by her sons, Thor to the left and Loki to the right. The princes both look so young and free of care. Odin’s painted all three of them as they were, before his lies tore this family apart. Thor and Loki are happy, no longer weary with fighting and bogged down by sorrows and horrors.

The Odin in the portrait looks like the artist looks now, tired, old, a little bit crazy, but free of the anger and bitterness that characterized the king as Eleanor knew him.

Most shocking to Eleanor is the final figure on the far right. It’s a version of herself, dwarfed by the royal family but standing tall and proud. Odin’s painted Eleanor as regal and wise and belonging with these legendary gods.

He’s painted her as family.

Her dress is pale green and Loki’s hand rests on her shoulder, blue and covered in runes while the rest of him remains in his Asgardian form.

They are all linked together through touch, Loki and Thor’s hands on their mother’s shoulders, Frigga arms spread across her sons to hold both Odin and Eleanor’s hands. She keeps them all together.

“Is it good?”

Eleanor jumps, startled out of her total absorption with the painting. She wipes her cheeks dry and nods. “It’s perfect,” she assures him. “I really miss her.”

Odin hums in agreement.

“This is how she’d want it,” Eleanor continues, tearing her eyes away from the portrait to look at its painter. “She’d want all of us to be just like that.”

“She loved me once. They all loved me once.”

Eleanor’s heart aches and she takes his hand. “Come on. Let’s eat.”

Loki joins them eventually, a habit he got into when he was forced to listen his advisers talk about the inherent evilness of all Jotunns.

When he leans down to kiss her, Eleanor offers only her cheek.

“Don’t anger your wife, Loki,” says Odin, sounding remarkably like his old self as he bites into a roll.

Loki scowls for a moment and Eleanor steels herself, fully expecting him to lash out with something cruel and biting.

Instead he laughs.

“Excellent advice, Allfather.” He kisses Eleanor’s cheek again and whispers in her ear. “Do not fret, my sweet songbird. You are my happiness. All will be well here. I promise.”

Eleanor nods as he makes himself a plate. His words appease her slightly, but she is unable to shake the feeling that they are living on borrowed time.

* * *

 

Eleanor wakes, opening her eyes in time to see Loki emerge from the bathroom, fully dressed and ready for the day.

“Good morning, my wife,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed and running a hand over her hair.

Eleanor groans in response, the noise dramatic enough to have Loki laughing.

“It’s unlike you to linger in bed,” he says.

“It is unlike you to get up without me badgering you.”

“I am making an effort to be optimistic and enthusiastic in regards to my current occupation. As you said, I chose this path and I will not let the banality of ruling cause either of us misery any longer.”

Eleanor is very skeptical and Loki sees it clearly in her facial expression.

He actually pouts.

“I am serious about this, Eleanor.”

“I’m pessimistic about your ability to be optimistic.”

He chuckles instead of getting all pissy, but this morning even happy Loki is not enough to get her out of bed.

Today, she is just off. Not sick, but not quite right. The timing is terrible, with Oza and the delegation arriving this afternoon.

Why the Empress of Vanaheim feels the need to personally take part in planning the ceremony to commemorate the third anniversary of the attack on Asgard remains a mystery to Eleanor.

Three more days’ sleep would serve her well.

“Are you quite all right, my love?” Loki bends, getting close to her face as his sharp eyes calculate every detail of her features. She closes her eyes and snuggles into her pillow.

“Tired,” she murmurs.

“Did you not sleep well? Was it your dreams?” This rising panic in his voice has Eleanor blindly reaching out to offer comfort.

Her hand finds his nose and she gives it a reassuring pat.

“No dreams. Just couldn’t really sleep. Or maybe I slept too much. I don’t know. It’s all a blur.”

Loki is still frowning. “You should always wake me on such occasions.”

“You need to be well-rested for all that kingly shit you have to do,” she says. “It’s a big week.”

Loki sighs heavily and Eleanor drifts, shivering slightly. When Loki leaves, she’ll get his fur cloak from the closet and add it to the mountain of blankets on top of her. She considers asking Loki, but it is summer and warm and that would only worry him.

“You have no matters of state to see to this morning?” he asks.

“No. I cancelled my work out with Sif and Sigyn can fill in with my music lessons, so I’ll be free until the Vanir arrive. If you bring Odin his breakfast and there is no reason my devoted husband wouldn’t do that for me, is there?”

“We are expecting a delegation from Vanaheim?”

“Yeah.” Eleanor peaks up at him from her blankets. “Where have you been? The empress is coming to plan the third anniversary. You best be there to receive her. She hates me.”

“She does not hate you.”

“I am a half mortal abomination and she hates me.”

“Perhaps we shall give her a room on the lower levels,” Loki muses, smirking. His hand finds her forehead and it is too cold, but she lets it stay.

“You are not starting a war with our closest ally because the empress thinks she’s better than me,” Eleanor replies, closing her eyes. She is in no mood for his mischief today.

“You ruin all fun things with your relentless reason.”

“Loki.”

“I fail to see why a foreign empress should have any say in planning the anniversary of an event where a mere dozen Vanir perished,” Loki mutters. “Has she had a hand in the planning these two years past?”

“Nope.”

“Then she has some other purpose for his visit.”

“I know.”

“Be careful, Eleanor.”

“I will.”

Loki kisses her forehead and she opens one eye to watch him depart.

“I will see you this evening on the bridge.”

“Go feed your fake father!” she shouts to his back.

“Oh, fine!”


	20. Half, Quarter, Quarter

“Eleanor? Eleanor!”

She opens her eyes and her vision is blurred. It takes several blinks to bring Sif into focus.

“Get out of my room, you ridiculous warrior.” Eleanor grumbles and rolls over, sleep already creeping back around her. It is delightful and warm. She pulls Loki’s fur over her head and sighs in contentment.

The warmth lasts only a few seconds as Sif rips away her mountain of blankets.

Eleanor sits up, feeling silly in her Midgardian sweats and hoodie. Sif is glaring from the end of the bed, blankets in hand, while Sigyn and Neela loiter in the doorway of the bedroom, obviously uncomfortable.

“Whoa,” says Eleanor. “What’s going on?”

“You’ve managed to sleep the day away,” Sif snaps, still angry that Eleanor skipped training, no doubt. “Neela repeatedly attempted to wake you and apparently you demanded she ‘get lost.’”

“Shit, that was real?”

“Eleanor,” Sigyn says, taking a step into the room. The healer’s eyes dart around and she wrings her hands. Eleanor wonders if she’s been in here before, centuries ago when she had an affair with Loki. “Are you ill?”

“What?” Eleanor replies, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “No, it’s just, Loki…” She trails off, feeling sick for real now because she’s said the wrong thing and nearly given up the whole game.

“Loki is gone.” Sif sounds as soft as she’s capable of sounding.

Eleanor shakes her head, forcing herself to focus. “I know.” She closes her eyes and tries to look like a grieving widow. After nearly three years, she’s pretty damn good at it. “It was just a dream.”

“A bad dream?” Sigyn murmurs.

“A good dream. The bad part was that it ended.”

There are a few beats of silence before Sif clears her throat. “I am sorry, Eleanor, but Empress Oza is scheduled to arrive quite soon.”

Eleanor glances out the window, shocked to see the sun so low in the sky.

“Fuck!” Eleanor scrambles out of bed, moving to the bathroom. Sigyn follows close behind, prepared to help with Eleanor’s bed head, while Neela ducks into the closet.

“What gown, Princess?” asks Neela.

“Sorry I yelled at you,” says Eleanor as Sigyn pushes her down to sit at the vanity.

“No need to apologize, Princess. What gown?”

* * *

 

Loki sits atop Lumar on the Rainbow Bridge, glancing over his shoulder with great frequency as he impatiently waits for Eleanor to join the welcoming procession. The remainder of the party is assembled, lining either edge of the bridge just outside the Bifrost pavilion. The only empty position is between Volstagg and Fandral. He sent Sif to fetch his wife, and Loki fluctuates between irritation and concern.

It is not like her to be late.

She appears on the bridge a moment later, galloping towards the pavilion on her white horse, Sif at her side. She pulls her steed to an abrupt stop at his side a few moments later as Sif trots to her place in line.

“Sorry, sorry,” Eleanor says as she slides off her horse.

Loki dismounts as well, falling into step beside her. They walk past Asgard’s nobles and Einherjar before entering the pavilion where Heimdall stands alone, ever watchful.

“They gather now, my king,” says the gatekeeper. “It appears that the empress is late.”

“It does seem to be a trend this evening,” Loki says, frowning at Eleanor.

“Sorry!” she replies. It is rare to see his wife so flustered and he finally settles on concern over irritation.

Loki fingers her thick winter cloak, an odd choice for the balmy weather. He raises a questioning eyebrow at Eleanor and she pulls the cloak tighter around her shoulders.

“I lost track of the time,” she murmurs. There is assuredly more to the tale but now is not the moment to investigate further.

“Hi, Heimdall,” Eleanor says.

“Hello, Princess. How fare thee?”

“I’m good. But I’ll be better if I know my people on Midgard are safe and sound.”

He chuckles and turns his gaze from Vanaheim to Midgard.

“All is well. Your family sleeps soundly. Jane Foster reads while Thor rests. Darcy Lewis and Steve Rodgers eat a dessert of some sort. Tony Stark builds something.”

Eleanor manages a wan smile. “Great, Heimdall. Thank you.”

“It is my pleasure, Princess. Ah, the empress is ready. Excuse me.”

The Bifrost pavilion around them shifts and Loki takes the moment to study Eleanor’s face. She is painted and perfect as always, not a flaw visible. It is her expression that is troublesome, eyes glassy and exhausted.

In the nine years together, Loki’s witnessed Eleanor fall ill only twice; if sickness is upon her now he would very much like to know.

“Eleanor?” he whispers as the Bifrost whirls to life.

“I’m fine.” She huddles in her cloak.

Eleanor asserting her so-called fineness is never a positive sign. Typically her claim of fine is a sure indication of coming woes, but the Empress of Vanaheim and her delegation steps through the Bifrost and Loki must be king rather than husband.

“Odin Allfather,” says Oza, sweeping forward. Eleanor and Heimdall bow to her just as her companions bow to Loki. Hogun is among them and Loki wonders if the long absent warrior will elect to stay.

“Oza,” Loki says, tilting his head in a way the Allfather would. ‘The months since we last saw one another have been kind to your beauty. It is my ardent hope that the time has been equally kind to your mind and your rule.”

Eleanor rolls her eyes but the empress beams, extending a hand for Loki to kiss. He does so, relishing the knowledge that Oza would be thoroughly disgusted to know that it is a Frost Giant that touches her skin.

“And the months have made you much more charming, if that is at all possible,” replies Oza. “It is a pity that we are brought together again under such sad circumstance. With my assistance we will honor the dead this year in a manner befitting those brave warriors lost, Aesir and Vanir alike, and Asgard’s most well-loved Queen.”

At the mention of his mother, Loki feels a wave of nausea, but he focuses instead on Oza’s speech. It is an obvious slight to Eleanor as she was responsible for the planning of the last two anniversary events. As she did an excellent job allowing for both sorrow and a celebration of lives well lived, the empress’s subtle slight has some greater purpose. Loki does not look forward to discovering what that might be.

“Yes,” Loki says. “The princess is more than capable, if past events are any indication, but I am sure she will welcome your consultation.” He glances at his wife, who stares straight ahead, eyes unfocused and unseeing. “Do you agree, Eleanor?” he asks, touching her shoulder.

She startles and shivers, glancing at Loki before bowing slightly to the empress.

“Yup. Right. Great,” she says.

The empress frowns and Loki bites back a sigh.

“Hello, Princess Eleanor,” says the empress. “You look lovely, as always.”

“Thank you,” Eleanor murmurs, suddenly demure and shy. Again, she huddles in her cloak.

“Shall we?” says Loki, gesturing towards the bridge. “I am sure you would appreciate a few hours to settle in your rooms before the feast.”

The empress takes his arm and Eleanor drifts along listlessly behind them.

* * *

 

“Eleanor—”

“I’m fine.”

“Eleanor!”

“What, Loki?” she asks, flopping backward onto their bed.

He looms over her, taking her face between his hands to better study her features. When she shivers, he hastily removes himself from her proximity. “I make you cold.”

“You don’t make me cold. I’m just cold.”

“What sickness is this?” he asks himself more than Eleanor.

“I’m not sick,” she insists. “I just need to sleep.”

Loki paces along the end of the bed, wringing his hands behind his back. Eleanor pulls a fur over her torso.

“You need not attend tonight,” Loki says.

“I’m going.”

“I’m capable of entertaining those I find exceptionally dull without you by my side. If you require rest, then rest,” he says.

She peeks out from her fur to frown at him. “It’s not you I’m worried about. Oza is obviously up to no good.”

“Caught that, did you?”

“Obviously.”

Loki lies down at Eleanor’s side, careful not to touch her and add to her chill. He rolls to face her. “Before all other duties tomorrow morning, before you breakfast with Odin and before you receive Oza, you will allow Sigyn to examine you.”

He fully anticipates an argument as Eleanor is stupidly stubborn in matters involving her own wellbeing.

“Fine,” she says instead, he eyes fluttering closed. “It’s fucking unnecessary, but I’ll go if it will make you feel better, you big worry wart.”

“It will make me feel better,” he says.

Eleanor hums in reply, already mostly asleep. Watching her makes him ill with worry, but she agreed to see a healer so he will not “freak out” – as Eleanor is so fond of saying – until after said appointment.

He allows her to sleep for near an hour, until he hears Neela knock. He shakes her awake, kisses her forehead, and slips into the secret passage to get Odin his supper and prepare for the torturous night ahead.

* * *

 

“Well, that was super fun,” Eleanor drawls. She reaches for a goblet of wine, thinks better of it, and selects water instead.

They are seated at a table on the raised platform at the head of the Great Hall, watching as guests finish eating and begin dancing. The hall is loud with laughter and music, so there is no need for Eleanor to whisper her words.

“Oza is not very subtle, is she?”

“Certainly not,” Loki agrees, stealing Eleanor’s wine as he watches the empress dance with a grinning Fandral.

They spent the entirety of the meal listening to the empress insult Eleanor. The message was clear. Eleanor’s youth and foreign upbringing make her unsuitable to fulfill the duties normally conducted by the Queen of Asgard, as she has done since Loki began wearing Odin’s face.

Oza’s words were patronizing, insults wrapped in a sweet tone and supposed concern for Eleanor’s wellbeing and the wellbeing of the Realm Eternal.

“What does she want?” Loki murmurs, searching for an answer.

“To marry you.”

“Pardon?”

“Or maybe to marry you off,” says Eleanor, yawning widely. “I don’t know but she definitely has a candidate for the next Queen of Asgard.”

“I am spoken for,” Loki says, horrified by the possibility.

“Odin isn’t.”

Loki gapes at his wife before looking out to the dance floor in time to catch the Empress of Vanaheim watching him intently.

“It is ludicrous,” Loki hisses into his wine. “A Vanir as Queen of Asgard? It is simply not done.”

“Dude,” Eleanor says. “Your brother married a mortal. You married a half-mortal. And you are a Jotunn ruling the whole thing.”

“A fact none but three are aware of.”

“Still, a Prince of Asgard married an abomination.”

“Eleanor!”

“And that changed things. That is a positive. Asgard needs change. All this hate of different races and the hierarchy the Aesir are obsessed with is not good.” She seems exhausted by her own indignation and she slouches low in her seat.

“What would you have me do? Marry the Vanir in the name of social progress?”

Eleanor rolls her eyes and steals Loki’s water. “No. Not at all. Just be nice about it.”

“Niceness, my sweet songbird, is my defining characteristic.”

Eleanor snorts, yet another example of princess-like behavior.

“You sat quietly and allowed her to dismiss all your fine work these last few years,” he murmurs, eyes once more on the dancers.

“Sorry.”

“There is no need to apologize. I am merely commenting on how effectively you typically navigate such situations without insulting your opponent but also not giving in at all. I find myself taking your political skill for granted, made all the more apparent now that you are not at your best. Mother recognized this ability you have long before I did.”

“I love you,” she says, completely changing the subject.

Even with all their hours upon hours of practice, refraining from lavishing her with affection, physical and otherwise, in public is difficult.

It would not do to see Odin suddenly kiss Asgard’s beloved princess.

“I am aware,” he says instead.

* * *

 

“I promised Odin I’d come see you in the morning, Sigyn.”

The healer accosts Eleanor as she leaves the Great Hall where the party for Oza still rages.

Because she’s bailing early, Loki will have to stay late to avoid offending the Vanir.

“You are dead on your feet, Eleanor,” says Sigyn, linking their arms and leading her towards the healing rooms.

Eleanor yawns widely.

“You will see me now,” says Sigyn.

“Fine.” Eleanor is too exhausted to argue.

* * *

 

Barely able to keep her eyes open, Eleanor climbs up onto Sigyn’s golden slab.

“Can I have a blanket?” she mumbles.

“No,” Sigyn says, starting up the soul forge. Her hands move in elegant circles and it makes Eleanor yawn again.

“Why are you so cranky?” she asks.

“Because you, my princess, make a terrible patient.”

“I think it’s Sif wearing off on you. She’s turning you into a cranky person. You’re spending too much time with her.”

“I am not!”

Eleanor opens one eye, surprised to see Sigyn blush. Later she’ll think about this bizarre reaction but now she’s too tired. “I’m just going to lie here.”

“Yes, Eleanor.”

“I absolutely will not fall asleep.”

Sigyn chuckles and Eleanor promptly falls asleep.

* * *

 

“Eleanor. Eleanor!” She is shaken from sleep far too soon and without opening her eyes she bats Siygn’s hands away, “Wake up!”

There is panic in the healer’s voice but it is still very difficult to open her eyes and sit up.

Sigyn is pale, her eyes wide and mouth held in a tight, grim line.

“Aw, fuck,” Eleanor says, turning so her legs dangle off the side of the table. “Am I dying?”

“No.” Sigyn looks up, pointing to the swirling golden strands that represent Eleanor’s insides. She has Eleanor look at a tiny, fluttering light. “That is a heartbeat.”

“My heartbeat?” It seems too small.

“No, Eleanor. You are with child.”

Eleanor stares at her friend for a very long time. “Stop fucking with me.”

“I do not understand your meaning.” Sigyn tilts her head to the side and blinks. “My words are true. ‘Tis the heartbeat of your child. It is very young.”

Eleanor stares intensely at the fluttering, pulsing light. It does not seem real. She shakes her head.

“No, I’m not. It’s not possible.”

“You mean to say you have not recently participated in copulation?” asks the healer.

The last time she _participated in copulation_ was yesterday morning but that is irrelevant being as it is physically impossible to create a half-Jotunn, quarter-Midgardian, quarter-Asgardian baby. Eleanor is no expert, but three is just way too many species for one kid.

“Eleanor, I do try to refrain from judgment, but you are a very recent widow.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Eleanor scowls. For the first time all day, she manages to fight her exhaustion.

“It’s been over two years,” Eleanor replies.

”Two years is nothing. A breath, a heartbeat. I do not understand how you could besmirch his memory so,” Sigyn says.

The conversation is getting away from Eleanor. She is too shocked to deal with Sigyn’s judgmental fretting. Ignoring the irrelevant concerns of her friend, Eleanor stares at the pulsing glow of what Sigyn claims is her baby’s heartbeat.

“Holy shit,” she murmurs. “I can’t be pregnant.”

“If you have participated in intercourse than it is always a possibility. No spell or potion is completely effective, although I must admit such failures are rare. Extremely rare. But given your unique heritage…”

Eleanor nods along, even though Sigyn can’t understand why this can’t be happening. Eleanor can’t be pregnant because her husband is dead and lives as his fake father outside their rooms. Eleanor can’t be pregnant because the only good parental role model she’s had is dead for real. Eleanor can’t be pregnant because the poor kid will be a mishmash of species.

“Fuck,” Eleanor says with a groan. She digs the heels of her hands into her eyes and wants to crawl into bed.

“Is it Odin’s?”

Eleanor snaps her head up, glaring at the healer who is glaring also.

“Why the hell would you ask me that?”

Sigyn blushes and fiddles with the soul forge to avoid looking at Eleanor. “You and the king are very close.”

“Jesus, Sigyn. Not that close. He’s like my father.”

“I do not smile at my father in such a way. If my father looked at me like the king looks at you than I would be extremely alarmed.”

Eleanor sighs.

Treating Loki like her king rather than her husband is the most difficult part of this insane arrangement. Apparently, she’s not nearly as good at acting as she formerly thought.

“Are you going back to the party?” Eleanor asks. Somehow, she manages to slide off the table and stand on her shaky legs.

“I had not thought on it.”

“Can you please? And tell Odin that I’m in his tower. Don’t let anyone overhear you.”

Sigyn bows. “Yes, my princess.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t be mad at me. There’s a lot I can’t tell you, but I need you to not be mad at me.”

With a heavy sigh, Sigyn turns to Eleanor. “I will help you but I cannot approve of your actions. Eleanor. You are having the king’s illegitimate child. You have procreated with the father of your recently deceased husband. I do not approve.”

“It’s not Odin’s,” Eleanor says. “I’m not lying. It’s not Odin’s but I still have to tell him.”

“Then whose?”

“I’ll tell you when I can tell you, if I can tell you, but it’s really not Odin’s.”

Sigyn glares for a few more moments before her stern disapproval melts away. Suddenly, she is opening cabinets and digging through drawers.

“I shall give you a brew to combat your exhaustion. Such lethargy is not uncommon among the Aesir. The chill you are experiencing, however, is not. Perhaps a mortal side effect?”

“Yeah.” Eleanor thinks of the other half of her baby’s make up. “Perhaps.”

* * *

 

She wheels a food cart into Odin’s rooms, mutters a greeting as the old man toddles down the steps, and then flees to Frigga’s library where she curls up on a lounge under a mountain of furs.

Eleanor considers taking Sigyn’s energy concoction, but it is late and she would rather sleep than deal with this stunning revelation.

For once rest does not come easy and she remains awake when Odin slips into the room. His posture is bashful, reminding Eleanor of a little kid embarrassed to be asking for access to his parent’s bed at night.

“Mortal?” he asks, wringing his hands as he loiters by the doorway.

“Eleanor. My name is Eleanor and I’m not a mortal.” This pregnancy would be so much less daunting if she were all one thing or all the other. “You know my name.”

“Eleanor? Can I come in?” he asks.

“Of course. It’s your library. You don’t have to ask.”

“All right.” The former king shuffles closer. He takes a seat on the floor by her feet, tucking her blankets more securely around her.

“You are sad,” he observes, squinting at her with his good eye.

“No, just tired.”

“And frightened. Because of little baby blue.”

She jerks under her mountain of furs and Odin huffs, irritated that Eleanor undid all his fine work tucking her in. He securely covers her feet and starts humming. After a few minutes Eleanor falls asleep.

* * *

 

“Walk me back to my rooms, Allfather?”

Loki glances up as the empress comes to stand by his chair. He regards her warily, but manages to keep Odin’s features free of the concern and boredom Loki feels, the result of Eleanor’s early departure.

He has no desire to accompany the empress anywhere, but if she retires for the evening that means Loki may retire also. According to the healer, his exhausted wife awaits him in Odin’s chambers.

“Very well.” He gets to his feet and manages to keep from jumping out of his skin when the old hag takes his arm. They depart the Great Hall and Oza insists they stroll through the gardens rather than taking the more direct route to the guest tower.

Although he’d very much enjoy snapping her neck and rushing to his ill wife, he acts out his part as king flawlessly. Surely during this excruciating stroll, the empress will reveal the true purpose of her visit.

Loki gives appropriate responses to Oza as she gushes about flora and the brightness of the stars in the sky, but after only a few minutes Loki loses patience.

“Oza,” he says. His tone should be gentle, but Eleanor is ill and he needs to get to his wife. “Tell me of your true purpose in visiting. Not that you are unwelcome, but I would like to know.”

The empress sighs and gracefully arranges herself on a bench, patting the seat at her side. With great reluctance he joins her.

“We are old friends, are we not?” she asks.

“We are,” Loki agrees despite never liking the ill-humored ruler personally.

“And as such I would speak plainly, Allfather.”

“Of course.”

He dreads Oza’s next statement, hoping Eleanor was wrong although she’s rarely wrong.

His mother has been gone less than three years. It is nothing to a god, a blink. There are days when Loki himself forgets that going to Frigga is no longer an option and as strained as their relationship might have been near the end, Frigga was Odin’s great love. Two and a half years is far too soon for Oza to propose a union for Odin.

“Is the princess quite all right? She seemed less lively than usual,” Oza says.

“It has been less than three years since the attack,” Loki says, hoping Oza understands the subtext here. “Her loss was great and there are days when her grief is difficult to bear.”

“She must have been very devoted to your son.”

“She remains so.”

Oza sighs and looks to the stars. “Yes, but she was raised mortal. Three years to you and I might be nothing, but to her it is a substantial amount of time. At the very least you must begin to plan for her future.”

“Her future?” This conversation is proving even less tolerable than Loki originally anticipated.

“She cannot remain here, bumbling through the duties of a rightful queen indefinitely,” says Oza. Her voice is gentle but her eyes are sharp. They are bright – pale and grey and striking – in the dim light, a direct contrast to her dark skin and even darker hair.

“Eleanor was trained by Frigga herself. She has done a superb job assisting me.”

“Superb for a half mortal, but Allfather, her claim is weak. She is a half mortal briefly married to a prince who was not truly a prince.”

“Tread carefully, Oza,” Loki says. His persona cracks slightly as his rage seeps through. “In his final moments Loki redeemed himself and I will hear no ill words against him. As for Eleanor, not only does she share the blood of my late wife, but Frigga chose her for this task. She is my only remaining family on this realm. Again, I urge you to tread carefully.”

“I mean no offense and for now the arrangement will do, but even in a decade, two, three you will not be able to marry her, Odin.”

Loki gapes. “I have no intention of marrying my daughter-in-law!”

“For true? Because you appear to be infatuated with the half-mortal.”

He should have anticipated this. They believe he is Odin without question, but hiding his love for Eleanor is vastly more difficult.

“I have no desire to marry Princess Eleanor.”

“Oh? Then you will be open to my proposition?”

“Proposition?”

“She cannot rule Asgard at your side. It would be unseemly for a multitude of reasons and offensive to the other realms due to her inferior birth, but she is doubtless suited to rule a lesser realm.”

Loki would rather hear Oza declare her undying love for his father. “Oh?”

“It will not be long before my Oleg takes the throne from me and he will be in need of an empress. They would make a good match.”

The urge to snap her neck is once more upon him.

From a completely objective perspective, the heir to Vanaheim would make a decidedly bad match for Eleanor. She would expire from the boredom of it within the week of marriage to such a fool.

Loki struggles to be diplomatic but he cares less and less about maintaining good relations with Asgard’s greatest ally with each passing moment. His newfound resolve to enjoy ruling once more is sorely tested and Loki has a great desire to flee these gardens, to flee Asgard, to simply disappear with his wife.

“And you would come here to rule as my queen,” Loki finishes instead.

“That would be a good match also,” Empress Oza getting to her feet, giving Loki a sad smile. “It is such a painful thing, learning to live without your partner after thousands of years together. We would be a good match too, both of us experiencing that. It is something to think on, but in a decade or two, or three, when such decisions need be made.”

Loki manages a nod and does not shy away when Oza kisses his – Odin’s – cheek.

The moment she disappears, Loki is on his feet and sprinting towards Eleanor where she awaits him in Odin’s tower. Once he finds her he will admit to being wrong.

Because he was wrong, ruling Asgard.

It is not easy to take responsibility for his mistakes, but taking the crown was foolish. He sees that now as he no longer even wants it. Eleanor, as usual, was right, and pretending to be Odin is an unsustainable practice mainly because he is incapable of hiding his love for his wife.

Incessantly her friends and family call her back to Midgard, questioning her decision to stay here and they will not be so easily dismissed forever.

Loki should have anticipated Oza’s suggestion, also. Marrying off royals is always the peak of political theater and Loki was a fool to think that Odin and Eleanor would be left on their own. Oza will be far from the last to covet Eleanor as currency in a political marriage.

For once, Loki is truly at a loss. He knows not how to proceed.

Perhaps he could pretend to lose his mind as the king and then simply disappear to Midgard. Thor would be forced to become king when the true and insane Allfather is discovered. Loki could wear a new face and Eleanor could move back into their old house. Acquiring a position at the Stark research facility would be easy and eventually he could court and marry Eleanor as a mortal. It would be a simple life, one he would only have to endure until everyone else Eleanor loves is dead and then they could move on to a more interesting realm.

He reaches the entry to the tower and sighs heavily, pausing outside the doors. There is much about this plan that Eleanor will surely find objectionable.

She would never leave Odin here alone for one.

There is time enough to think on it, and all that can be done now is see to his wife.

* * *

 

Eleanor’s eyes flicker and open as he stands in the entry to Mother’s library. She is reclined on a lounge while Odin sits at a nearby table, sketching and oblivious to Loki’s presence.

Eleanor sits up and doesn’t meet his eye. She rubs her hands over her face and then looks at his feet.

“Hi.” Her whisper is strangled. Something in her expression keeps Loki from crossing the room to his wife as he usually would. “How…” She stutters, clears her throat. “How was the rest of the banquet?”

Loki shrugs and studies her more intently. Internally, he leans into their bond. The fear and distress he feels there makes him flinch.

“Eleanor?” He chokes out her name.

“It’s okay. I’m okay.”

He nods and remains frozen in place.

It takes some effort, wrestling with all the blankets and furs piled upon her, but Eleanor manages to get to her feet. When she crosses the room, he meets her in the middle. Odin remains absorbed in his art.

“You saw Sigyn,” Loki murmurs.

Eleanor nods and, much to his horror, tears fill her eyes.

“My love,” he whispers, reaching up to cradle her face between his hands. Her fingers dig into his wrists. “My love. Please, just tell me. What is the healer’s diagnosis?”

“Fuck,” she mutters. “It’s not… I’m not. Diagnosis is not the right word. I mean, it’s something, obviously but that makes it sound like a disease. And it is not a disease. Disease you can treat. Disease you can, you know… That sounds horrible but at this point in our life a disease would honestly be easier to deal with.”

Loki can do nothing but blink.

Odin lets out a low whistle, almost as if he is disappointed in the whole current state of affairs.

“Pardon?” Loki finally manages. Eleanor attempts to take a step back but he does not let go of her face.

“I don’t even know how to fucking say it, Loki.”

“I must insist that you figure it out immediately, Eleanor.” He is on the brink of a panic attack or perhaps his heart will explode in his chest. Regardless, he is in dire need of answers.

Eleanor winces and hisses through her teeth. “According to Sigyn,” Eleanor says, speaking very carefully, “who is a healer, there is a heartbeat.”

Loki snorts and moves one hand from her cheek down to her chest. “I need no healer to tell me this.”

In response Eleanor laughs with no small amount of hysteria. Again she attempts words. Again she fails.

She gives up on speech entirely and takes Loki’s wrist. Once more his hand is on the move. She directs it to her stomach and leaves it there.

And Loki stares.

Eleanor bites her lip and cries.

Odin sketches.

And Loki stares.

He stares until the truth of what she silently tells him seems to radiate up from the hand that remains on her stomach, all the way to his mind, and then Loki smiles. The grin blooms slowly until every part of him vibrates with pure joy.

He smiles as genuinely and widely as he ever has while Eleanor stares up at him like he’s once more misplaced his sanity.

“Truly?” He marvels at his wife, pulling her a bit closer. Visions from the Tesseract, ones he repressed so deeply he’s scarcely admitted to himself what he saw, dance behind his eyes. A blue haired, blue eyed little girl with her mother’s musical talent and her father’s grin, banging away at a piano. Eleanor’s sloppy, sweaty grin after she labors to bring her daughter into the world. A feeling of such awe, such peace, brought around by the stunning realization that this family is irrevocably his.

But Eleanor does not have this joy and when he attempts to share it with her over their bond it is rejected most vehemently. Eleanor drowns in fear, in confusion.

“You don’t want this?” Loki’s throat is tight. Although he’s always been well aware of Eleanor’s ability to wound him fatally, in recent years he grew to believe that she never actually would.

With this rejection of their child, Eleanor hurts him gravely.

“What?” she squeaks, jumping back from him. “I don’t… I can’t…” She shakes her head and squeezes her eyes shut. “How is this even possible? This bab—” She clears her throat. “I’m two things. You are one different thing. This… It would be three different things! Will nature allow for it? Is it even possible? Or will… or will my body just take care of it in a couple weeks?”

She is unable to continue, her hands moving over her stomach. The gesture is so protective, so desperate, and Loki understands. It is obvious now that Eleanor’s fear and confusion are perfectly legitimate, and Loki is deeply ashamed to have doubted her for even a moment.

And just because he’s seen a child in the Tesseract, does not mean it will actually be so.

* * *

 

“Lie down immediately,” Loki snaps, hands fluttering around Eleanor, unwilling to touch her in his increasing panic. His voice rises in pitch as he walks her back towards the couch. “We do not know the physical toll this will take on you, on the… fetus. Sit. Sit, and never move again.”

For a few, blessed moments Loki’s reaction was just perfect. He was so in awe, so happy. Of course that was completely short-sighted given the current situation, but perfect just the same.

Of course she had to ruin it with her goddamn questions and now a switch has flipped in her husband, making him just as freaked out as her.

“Dude!” she replies, gently lowering herself to the sofa. From his seat at the table Odin abandons his sketching to study them. “Stop freaking out! You can’t freak out. Only one of us is allowed to freak out and it’s going to be me so get your shit together and be the logical, rational one that I know you are.”

Loki glares down at her, opening his mouth and then closing it without speaking.

“Blue,” says Odin. To Eleanor, the tone is stern but supportive, a father acknowledging a son’s scary situation while simultaneously telling him to step up.

Loki lets out a big breath, shoulders slumping. He runs his hands through his hair. “I will be the rational member of this partnership, allowing you to ‘freak out’ on both our behalfs? This is what you ask of me.”

“Yes.”

After sighing heavily again, Loki takes up his pacing.

“How the fuck is this even possible?” she says again.

“Eleanor, although I too have questions on both the how and the why now of our current state, I think our time would be better spent devising a plan of some sort that protects you and the… fetus—”

“Oh my fuck, stop saying fetus. What happened to birth control?” This is not a conversation they’ve had since the bunker when Eleanor had no choice but to trust Loki when he promised to take care of it.

“Birth control?” he asks, frowning.

“Yeah. Preventing pregnancy. That’s something you do. Right?” He blinks at her. “Right!”

“Ah. No, not for sometime, as it were.”

“What!” she shrieks.

“Eleanor, we have not used any preventative spells since the bunker.”

“Why not!”

“I did not think this possible!”

They scowl at each other for a few silent moments.

“Children,” Odin says with obvious disapproval.

Eleanor breaks first, tearing her gaze away from her husband to cry into her hands. She is exhausted and terrified and in no shape to be arguing with Loki. The couch dips and he is next to her, too cold but everything she needs.

“Come here,” he murmurs, arm around her and pulling her into his chest. There she calms as Loki runs fingers through her hair.

Even his steadying presence is not enough to stop her brain whirling.

In a different reality – one where her husband isn't thought to be dead while actually committing treason everyday by impersonating the real, albeit insane, Allfather, and where their genetics are not of three different species – she'd want this.  Under even halfway normal circumstances Eleanor would probably be a bit freaked by the immensity of such a thing, but these are totally fucked circumstances and Eleanor is more terrified than she can ever recall being before.

And she's lived through some real terror.

"Does anyone single even get pregnant here?" Eleanor whispers, trying desperately to see a possible solution through the litany of problems this pregnancy presents.

"Single?" asks Loki.

Eleanor's eyelids are so heavy.  She can do nothing but close them.

"You know.  Unwed mothers.  Is that a thing?"

"I do not understand your line of questioning, but no.  Very few Asgardians find themselves unintentionally with child."

"Well, guess I'll be the first.  First half-mortal.  First unwed pregnant princess.  Taboo after taboo being broken here."  Sleep is nearly upon her and she melts into her husband's side until he is abruptly gone and she finds herself tipped over and face down in the cushions.

She turns her head to scowl at him but finds she quite likes her new horizontal position.

"Unwed?" Loki says in full on looming menace mode. 

If she was working on a few more hours sleep, if this wasn't the most terrified she's ever been, Eleanor probably would be able to figure out exactly what has him on the verge of a full-on diva tantrum.

But she's exhausted and quaking in fear, so she just can't.

"Do I really have to remind you that you are dead?" she asks.

“Dead," Loki repeats, fists clenching at his sides.

"Yeah.  To everyone but the three people in this room, you are dead.  Nearly three years dead.  And because of that, everyone is going to assume, and understandably so, that you are not the father."

The glace he gives her, so dark and livid, makes Eleanor wince.

"What?  Am I not stating facts here?" she mutters.

"You think I will continue to rule, to wear Odin's face.  You think I will lie to my child?  To make her think that she has no father, that I am simply her false grandfather?  You think I would ever choose this?  To dupe my child on this most fundamental of truths?" 

He is hissing and spitting and furious, and probably under all that, hurt. 

Given the way he grew up and the disastrous effect of those lies, how could she have thought for one moment that he would choose to continue the lie, passing it to their kid?  She sees now that there is no way Loki would take the throne over his family.  His real family, the one he chose and created.  Their child – if a child that is half-Jotunn, quarter-Midgardian, and quarter-Asgardian even has a chance of surviving – will know their father, but Eleanor still can't see how that's possible with Loki dead and wearing Odin's face to rule the Realm Eternal.

"Oh fuck," whispers Eleanor.  "Of course. I'm sorry."

Loki shakes his head.  "Come," he says, suddenly sounding as weary as she feels.  "You need rest.  There is nothing more that needs be said on this night."

"But—”

"It can wait until you've rested, Eleanor."

He helps her to her feet and keeps a steadying arm around her waist.  When she closes her eyes and accesses their bond, she can feel his lingering anger.  In her exhaustion and fear, Eleanor’s disappointed her husband, so while he leads them out of Odin's tower, Eleanor floods the bond with all the love she has for him, how perfect his original reaction to her pregnancy was.

Odin stops them before they can leave.  He gives them what appears to be an overjoyed grin.  Eleanor's stomach gets a gentle pat and her cheek gets a kiss.  Loki doesn't even fight when Odin tugs his face close and kisses his forehead.

* * *

 

"What do we do?" Eleanor finally loses the battle against her tears when Loki warms her with magic and cuddles up with her in their bed. 

“I promise you, Eleanor. This child is possible. All will be well in the end,” he assures her, lips against her forehead.

"But you're dead,” she whispers.  “Odin's crazy.  We can't just disappear.  This baby is three things.  We need help.  We need healers.  What are we going to do?"

Loki is quiet for too long as Eleanor cries into his chest.  Despite her thorough exhaustion, sleep eludes her.

"Thor."  Loki whispers his brother's name like a curse.  "We have to tell Thor."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! The big, long awaited one that I've only been gearing up for since chapter 10(ish) of Long Shadows. Damn, I am excited for this plot line.
> 
> Yeah, so a few (all, probably) of you might have seen this coming. I hope the big announcement did not disappoint.
> 
> Up next: the big announcement to big brother Thor. Who's excited?? (The answer is me. And maybe you too??) Good news, that chapter is nearly done because I've had it written since like March.
> 
> Big thanks to the best betas!  
> 1st beta: Heather  
> Final beta: Erica
> 
> See you so so soon!


	21. Abdication

"Princess," says the Einherjar guarding the steps that lead down, down, down to the white cells.  He bows, fully, respectfully.  "I was unaware you planned to visit on this day."

"Sorry about that," Eleanor says.  "This was a bit last minute."

"I understand."  He steps aside and lets her pass. “You are most welcome at anytime, Princess.”

Bragi is on the second level reserved for the petty, non-violent criminals with short sentences.  His cell even has a small window and a whole shelf of books to keep him entertained.

"Eleanor!"  He shouts and scrambles to his feet.  He crosses the small room quickly to touch the back of her hands and kiss both her cheeks.  "You look tired.  Why so tired?  Did you bring an instrument?  I would very much like to play."

His exuberance and energy make Eleanor cringe, and she moves around him to lie down on his narrow, neatly made bed.

"Eleanor?"

"My mom.  My birth mom.  Nina."

Bragi goes pale and sways above her.  He sinks to the floor, sitting with his legs crossed under him near Eleanor's head.  He won't meet her eye and Eleanor is glad he's ashamed.

Although she doesn't particularly like Bragi – with his weirdness and his insistence that Opera is the pinnacle of Midgardian musical creation and his obsession with gambling – she visits every couple of weeks.  Something about him is compelling and she gave up hating him with a passion months ago.

But she's still glad he's ashamed and grief stricken when she mentions Nina.

"Oh," says Bragi.  "Oh, Nina.  She... My greatest failing.  It will surely haunt me evermore.  There was no reason for such a treasure, such a light, to die.  And I had every intention to return.  Never did I think that something as basic as childbirth would kill her."

Eleanor gapes at him. 

"I loved her so," Bragi murmurs, looking at his hands.  "But my lust for wandering got the best of me, as it tends to do. Fatal flaw.  Also gambling.  Also alcohol."

This is so far removed from Eleanor’s goal for this conversation.  Eleanor always assumed that she was the product of some lusty god seducing a curious young mortal, but Bragi describes something totally unexpected.  She doesn't have room in her head to rewrite what she always held true of her origins.

"If you had been there, you could have saved her?" Eleanor asks, sitting up.  "There is magic you know that could have helped a mortal birth a half Aesir?"

"Of course.  Easily."

Her relief is probably unfounded, but Bragi is the only known creature living that has the experience of fathering a multispecies child.

"Why?" Bragi asks, eyes narrowing.  She grimaces back at him and he catches on immediately.  "Oh.  I'm to be a grandfather?"

Eleanor absolutely refuses to find his goofy grin endearing.

"Hopefully," Eleanor murmurs.

She doesn't have the strength to resist when he lunges off the floor to wrap her in a hug.

* * *

 

Outside the door to Bragi's cell lingers Loki, wearing Odin's face.  Through their bond she can reach out and feel the irritation that he is very deliberately projecting.

"You promised to stay in our rooms," he says, making no move to close the space between them.  Eleanor does it herself, stopping just short of touching him.

"You told me to stay in our rooms," she corrects.  "I simply didn't reply."

"Eleanor, please.  Please be cautious."

“Any word from the Vanaheim delegation?” she asks.   “I sent Sif, Sigyn, and Neela to sit in on the meetings.”

“Yes, most unusual choices, but effective. The ceremony is mostly planned. Oza and company will depart on the morrow. She is highly displeased.”

“So after she leaves…”

“I will summon my brother.”

Eleanor nods, the prospect of confessing her lies to her brother-in-law and her best friend is hardly pleasant.

"Bragi said he could have saved Nina, saved my mom, if he'd been there,” she murmurs.  “Easily."

"I will let nothing ill befall you, Eleanor."  Loki hesitates for a moment before resting a hand against her stomach.  "Neither of you. Oh, Eleanor. Tears again? Truly? How unseemly.”

* * *

 

After hours spent in silent rumination on the throne, Eleanor finds him. She makes no comment on the late hour or the fact that she awoke in their bed without him beside her as she climbs the steps to stand before him.

Loki recalls the first time she broke the rules to stand on the dais but he feels no irritation now, just profound gratefulness.

She pushes fingers through his hair.

With a hand on her hip, Loki encourages his wife to sit in his lap and she comes willingly, looping her arms around his neck. He rests a palm on her still-flat stomach, feeling the warmth of the little life that grows there and trying not to be so afraid.

Laying his head against his wife’s, Loki closes his eyes.

In moments like this, it is obvious why he loves her so. There is no need to explain that revealing himself to Thor goes against his every instinct because Eleanor understands. Understanding Loki is the most impressive of Eleanor’s many talents. She simply, inexplicably, knows that confessing this great lie to his brother will be unpleasant, that asking for his help will be abhorrent, and that handing over the throne after coveting it for so long will be painful, even if ruling has proved quite dull.

In turn, Loki knows that Eleanor’s fear for this little life matches his own and that confessing to Thor will be equally unpleasant for his wife.

In this deception, he made a liar out of her and now they will both pay for his need to sit on this throne.

“We should go back upstairs,” Eleanor murmurs.

He knows that she is right, but in the morning Thor will arrive and for the first time in years his brother will know the truth. Never again will Loki sit atop this throne and he would like the moment to last.

“Just a few minutes more,” he murmurs.

“Someone might see us, and more rumors about Odin and me are the last thing we need,” she replies.

“Pardon?”

“Oh, yeah. A lot of the nobility thinks we are banging. It’s not that far-fetched, the way we are always together, with you in your Odin face. Then there is all the smiling and laughing,” she explains.

“They are far more perceptive than I anticipated,” he replies.

“Sigyn asked me straight away if the baby was Odin’s.”

Loki wrinkles his nose, frowning in disgust.

“And we can’t have anyone thinking I’m carrying a son of Odin, now can we?” She places her hand over Loki’s where he still touches her stomach.

“Well, obviously I agree, but by Midgardian naming standards you do carry an Odinson, as our child would take my surname, yes?”

Eleanor blinks at him. “I’ve never, ever heard you refer to yourself as an Odinson.”

“It is massively preferable to Laufeyson,” Loki replies, shrugging. “And the Allfather is not completely unbearable now that he’s insane. Madness has vastly improved his disposition.”

Eleanor cracks a smile and wraps herself more firmly around his neck. Her kiss is gentle and Loki understands the rumors. Although they have yet to be caught in such a compromising position, if any were to see them now it would look as if Eleanor was kissing Odin. The thought is disgusting and Loki pulls back.

“After her birth none will think her Odin’s offspring,” he murmurs.

“Her?”

“She will be blue of hair.”

“Blue?”

“Yes.”

“Her!”

“Yes.” Loki laughs as Eleanor’s awe is contagious.

For a moment he revels in her joy, but then her eyes are narrowing and Loki wraps his arms around her waist, anticipating her coming departure.

“Is this a Tesseract thing?” she asks.

“I think we should now make love upon this throne. This will likely be our last opportunity to do so.”

Eleanor crosses her arms over her chest as she scowls.

“It is a fitting farewell, is it not?” he asks.

Eleanor raises an eyebrow.

“Brilliant blue hair,” he says, smiling softly. “Your face, your eyes. Pale skin with a dusting of dark blue freckles. She will be beautiful, Eleanor.” Holding on to this vision dissipates some of his very reasonable fear, and he shares it with his wife in the hope that it will do the same for her. Tears gather in her eyes as she gives him a sloppy smile.

“Really?”

“I believe so. She will have an affinity for the piano.” His hand rests over her womb once more and Loki reminds himself to teach Eleanor how to sense the warmth of their growing daughter after this unpleasantness with Thor, after they have a plan to keep their family safe.

“Wow,” murmurs Eleanor. “It’s really going to be okay.”

“Yes.” He sounds more confident than he feels, for it is what Eleanor needs from him in this moment.

“We can do this.”

“Yes.”

Eleanor grins, standing for a moment to gather her long skirts in her hands and pulling them up around her waist to make straddling his lap easier.

“I love you,” she says, fingers once more curling in his hair.

“I am aware. And you are aware that I suggested we defile the throne in jest?”

She rolls her eyes and kisses him into submission. He is weighing the cons – the potential of getting caught, Eleanor on top and doing most of the work while pregnant – against the pros – the potential of getting caught, Eleanor on top and doing most of the work – when a booming voice interrupts them.

“I do not believe my eyes!”

There at the end of the hall stands Thor, face red with embarrassment and anger, mouth agape. The Madame of Science stands at his side, looking far less surprised and far more suspicious than her oafish counterpart.

“Well, shit,” says Eleanor with a heavy sigh. “Hi, Jane.”

“Hi, Eleanor,” Jane replies, sounding pleasant enough although Loki was expecting a bit more shock from her.

“Lady Eleanor,” says Thor, averting his eyes. “Please remove yourself from the throne. It is most unseemly and I wish to speak to my father privately.”

“There is really no need for that,” Loki says as Eleanor gets to her feet. He reaches out to steady her as she adjusts her skirts. He thought himself prepared for this moment, but now that the time for truth is upon him, his stomach rolls and his insides quake in anticipation of his brother’s reaction. “And do not call me Father.”

“Father?” Thor is questioning and concerned.

“You arrived early,” Loki scolds, wearing Odin’s face and using Odin’s inflection. “We thought to see you on the morrow.”

“It is tomorrow on Earth,” says Jane.

“Is this why you summoned us here?” demands Thor, storming forward until he stands directly below Loki. “To announce your betrothal to Loki’s widow?”

The contempt and righteous indignation in the golden prince’s tone is impressive. For a moment, Loki feels guilty for lying to him so.

“Are you defending the memory of the dishonored Jotunn?” asks Loki.

Thor takes an angry step forward, toes pushing against the stairs, and puffs himself up to his full height. “He was your son!” screams Thor. “And he died with honor!”

“Did he?” asks Loki, amused.

“I bear witness,” insists Thor.

“Do you?” Loki would gladly taunt Thor for the remainder of the night, but Eleanor does not allow it to be so.

“Come on,” says his wife, tugging on his arm until he rises from the throne for what is sure to be the last time. “Stop torturing him. Let’s just show them.”

* * *

 

Thor stays silent as they make the journey from the throne room to the tower that houses the true Odin. With each step Loki’s dread grows and he longs to take Eleanor’s hand, but they pass guards who would react even worse than Thor to such a scandalous sight because Eleanor may now be loved and respected by the people, but she is ultimately unworthy of a king, tainted as she is by mortal blood.

Eleanor pushes through the great doors, followed by Thor and Jane. Loki pulls them shut behind them and he sheds Odin’s visage for the first time in years. Appearing as himself feels like marching naked through the great hall, so instead he cloaks himself from sight.

He tells himself that the invisibility is done out of a sense of drama rather than cowardice.

“You are familiar with these rooms?” mutters Thor. “Do you frequent the tower of my parents, Eleanor?”

Loki attempts to once more find amusement in Thor’s childish anger, but he cannot because for the first time in years Loki will be himself to his brother and even more shocking, Loki knows not how Thor will react.

“Yeah, I’m here everyday. But it’s really not what you think,” says Eleanor.

With impeccable timing, the true Odin rushes down the stairs at this moment, in all his rumbled, paint smeared, messy-haired glory. Without his shining armor, Odin appears thin and small. There is nothing remotely kingly about his shuffling movements.

Thor and Jane turn around, but upon seeing no Odin lurking by the door they assume some magic has Odin rushing down the stairs and looking so peculiar now.

“I’m hungry,” declares the former King of Asgard, staring down at the painting he clutches between his hands.

“There are leftovers on the table,” Eleanor says, stepping forward to meet him as Jane and Thor look on in confusion. “What, do you not sleep anymore?”

“I was finishing this,” he replies, continuing to look down as Thor and Jane continue to stare transfixed at the disheveled former protector of the nine realms. “It’s for Loki. And for you. Is it good? Do you like it?”

He turns the square canvas to reveal a painting of a grinning toddler, standing on shaky legs. Her eyes are blue and so is her hair. The confusion of Thor and Jane mounts.

“Oh shit, Odin,” Eleanor says, wiping at her eyes and taking the painting. “Of course I like it. You’re making me cry.”

‘The good way?” Odin asks, sounding young and earnest.

Eleanor nods.

“Father,” Thor says, taking a cautious step towards the true Odin. “What lesson do you mean to teach? I am aware that your every action has purpose, but why change your appearance so? Why mention Loki in front of Eleanor when my brother’s death pains her?”

Eleanor visibly flinches as Odin stares at his favored son and his reluctant heir for the first time in three years.

“The oaf,” declares the Allfather, stealing back the portrait from Eleanor, clutching the painting to his chest and shuffling his feet. Loki would laugh, but the sound would gives away his position. “And the goat.”

“Hey, really?” protests Jane.

“Odin,” Eleanor scolds. “You know their names, old man.”

Loki wonders how much of Odin’s current bumbling, although not so damaged, demeanor is act only.

Odin throws a withering glare at Eleanor and sighs heavily. “Thor,” he amends, shuffling over to kiss his favorite son’s forehead in greeting. He then turns back to Eleanor. “I truly thought the mortal’s name was Goat.”

Eleanor giggles.

“It’s Jane,” says Jane.

“Fine then. Yes. Jane. Hello. I care not about this,” says Odin.

Loki again stifles a chuckle. Insane Odin is endlessly entertaining.

“What is this?” asks Thor, pale and concerned now. “What has happened? What is wrong with him?”

Jane turns around, staring intently at the spot just to Loki’s right. The Madame of Science has solved the riddle, it would seem, while her oaf of a counterpart remains lost.

“Not wrong,” Odin says, sighing heavily. “Just different now. Not wrong, just different.”

With that Odin turns to stare at Loki, somehow managing to make eye contact despite Loki’s illusion. Eleanor flashes Loki a sympathetic smile before frowning at Thor. Thor looks around wildly but sees nothing and goes back to staring at the Allfather.

“Please, Father. You are alarming me. Explain this.”

“What has happened?” murmurs Odin, turning over the painting to look at Loki’s daughter. “Mistakes and death. Grief and loss and the need to destroy. Failure. More mistakes.”

“Father?” Thor says, nearly pleading now.

“Eleanor was to be my sacrificial half-goat,” Odin continues as if he is making total sense. And perhaps to Eleanor and Loki, long accustomed to decoding such ramblings, he is. “I sought to take her life in a misguided attempt to ease my woes, but she was protected and the magic did something strange.”

Odin totters over to Eleanor as if his bones ache, patting her shoulder and handing over the painting. He then stands straight, hands clasped behind his back, appearing more kingly than he’s been since the incident that nearly killed him, but still a shadow of his powerful and commanding former-self.

Loki bides his time.

“The magic did something strange,” Odin says, self-assured. “It hurt, but not as much as the rest and then there was nothing because I could not remember names. I forgot everything and it was peaceful. It was a relief. I could make no more mistakes when moving through a fog of blue and music. And now I am different, but not wrong. The throne is such a heavy burden when faced alone, and Frigga tried to help me hold onto the man I might have been – a painter with a light heart – but then I forgot that I have two sons, not one. Two. And in forgetting, I failed her and she stopped trying. But I remember now. She knows I remember now.”

He looks up and smiles slightly.

“Do you understand?” Odin asks Thor.

The oaf’s brow is scrunched in confusion, but Loki understands. He shakes with understanding.

“I am sorry, Father. But I do not,” says Thor.

Odin sighs, his posture crumbling from the king back into the old man he’s been for these last years. “I no longer make decisions. No decisions means no mistakes. If I make no decisions than I will stay like this, as my love wanted me, different from the brutal, hard king, but not wrong. A painter with a light heart.” Odin looks to Loki once more, a smile just touching the corners of his wrinkly eyes.

“But, Father, you do make decisions,” insists Thor. “From the moment you allowed me to give up the throne for Midgard you’ve made countless decisions.”

Odin laughs, the sound rich. It was always such a rarity during Loki’s youth but he coveted it so. “Let you return to Midgard?” asks Odin. “Is that what happened?”

“You should know! You were there!” Thor says as the rest watch on.

“No, no I was not.”

“Your decisions have restored peace to the nine realms,” continues Thor. “Your decisions have ushered in an age of prosperity, the likes of which Asgard has not seen for centuries! You’ve opened Jotunheim for trade for the first time in a millennium!”

Thor is on the verge of hysteria and Loki’s moment is upon him. He attempts to throw off the illusion of invisibility but he is paralyzed.

He thinks of the reverse, of how Loki would feel if he thought Thor dead for so many years before finding out it was wrong.

In all likelihood, Loki would kill Thor for true on the spot.

And come to regret it deeply.

There is tightness in his chest and sickness in his stomach. It is a disturbing revelation, understanding now how much Thor’s opinion matters to him.

“Those were not my decisions,” Odin insists, looking at Loki despite the continuing invisibility. “Truly, they were Loki’s.”

“What is this madness? Loki died, Father. I saw it myself.”

Loki decides there is some joy to be had in proving Thor so laughably wrong. He lets his form flicker into sight, but instead of appearing as himself, Loki wears the Allfather once more, clutching the old king’s visage tightly like a shield to protect himself from the ire and disapproval of his brother.

It feels like a transportation to childhood, when Loki often dreaded the inevitable moment when he would disappoint Thor.

Eleanor frowns at him and Odin laughs.

“See!” says the Allfather. “Not dead. Just ruling.”

Although Loki can only see his brother’s back, it is obvious from the tension in Thor’s shoulders that he finally understands. Loki decides to revel in the thunder god’s discomfort because this is his most impressive bit of mischief to date and he will not be ashamed. Although he had no intention of Thor discovering this plot, he will delight in this moment.

Jane is glowering at him. Eleanor appears to be bracing herself for the fallout. Odin is smiling, but Thor has yet to turn.

Loki waits, standing tall and straight, a living testament to the king Odin once was. Loki is patient, while Thor is not, and it is not long before his brother slowly turns on the spot. His face is drawn and pale. Loki enjoys this, as he enjoys the unsteady sway in his brother’s stance.

After pausing for effect and to give Thor adequate time to take in the sight of the king Thor remembers from childhood, from right until they entered the tower and the true Odin bustled down the stairs, covered in paint.

Loki smirks.

At the familiar expression worn on the wrong face, Thor’s eyes go wide and Loki leans back against the door, crossing his arms over his chest and slowly peeling back Odin’s face to stand as himself.

Thor continues to gape in silence just as Loki continues to smile.

“Hello, _Brother_ ,” Loki says. “Did you miss me?”

The emotions come and go too quickly over Thor’s dopey face for Loki to accurately decipher any meaning.

“I fucking knew it!” exclaims Jane, glaring from Eleanor to Loki and back. “You were way too not sad! And there was no good reason for you to stay on Asgard, not if Loki was really dead!”

“I don’t have to tell you everything, Jane,” replies his wife.

“Yes, you do! I am your best friend. This? You definitely, definitely should have told me this!”

And then the two argue but Loki loses track of the words they throw at each other in anger because Thor is on the move, storming closer. Loki continues to smirk, even as Thor shoves him roughly back against the door.

Loki shows no remorse as Thor glares at him but when he finds himself pulled into Thor’s chest, the smirk falls from his face. The hug makes him feel heavy and he closes his eyes, debating whether or not he should return the embrace.

In the moment he decides to lift his arms, Thor pulls away and abruptly punches Loki in the jaw. Loki laughs as Thor breaks his nose next and does not stop laughing until Odin’s long forgotten and commanding boom demands for an end to the violence.

* * *

 

The boxers retreat to their corners.

Eleanor dabs at Loki’s bleeding nose as he sits scowling at the table where they take their meals with Odin.

Thor and Jane talk in hushed voices outside on the balcony and it is obvious that they are super pissed, even though it is still too dark to see details.

Odin stands in the space in between, looking nervous and distraught. His sensitivity to conflict has not abated.

This is actually less terrible than Eleanor anticipated.

When she moves away from her husband to get a fresh cloth Loki smirks at Thor out on the balcony. She can hear the answering growl from behind her.

“Hey,” she says, blocking Loki’s view of his brother with her body. “Stop smirking.”

“I am not smirking.”

“You are. You are smirking right now and he can’t even see you.”

“This is endlessly entertaining.”

“You were a wreck about this,” she reminds him, continuing to clean his wounds.

“And now I am simply entertained.”

“Was the whole, be invisible and then dramatically pop into existence thing really necessary?”

“Entirely.”

Eleanor sighs and sticks a bit of fabric up his bleeding nose. “Can’t you fix this up?” she asks.

“There is honor in bearing one’s wounds, Eleanor,” he says primly.

“Is there?”

“Plus,” he whispers. “Thor will feel immensely guilty. Whenever he looks upon my face.”

“And there is it.” Eleanor sighs and gives up on his nose. “This is going to be a disaster.”

“It is already a disaster.”

“We haven’t even asked him for help yet!”

“I am aware.”

“But he hugged you. That’s good.”

“He then broke my nose.”

“But first he hugged you. Jane didn’t hug me. Jane is super pissed.”

“I find most become unreasonably enraged when they’ve been lied to,” Loki muses.

Eleanor stares blankly, wondering how this became her life. She allowed Loki to maneuver them into an impossible situation, and she hopes that he’ll be able to get them out of it without losing her best friend.

And if her husband/the father of her unborn, half-Jotunn, quarter-Asgardian, quarter-mortal baby can keep his smirky ass out of prison that would be a big plus as well.

“Can we make a pact to not be prideful assholes?” Eleanor asks, glancing over her shoulder to where Jane and Thor stand on the balcony, still reeling with shock. When Jane got mad about the big reveal, Eleanor got defensive instead of contrite. That really can’t happen again. “I mean, they have the right to be pissed. They thought you were dead and we’ve been lying for years and committing treason all over the place. Not to mention breaking the Allfather’s brain.”

“I’m not broken.”

Eleanor nearly jumps out of her skin when Odin appears at her side, frowning down at her.

“Shit,” she mutters, pressing her palm into her chest over her rapidly beating heart.

“I’m not broken,” Odin repeats, getting dangerously close to pouting.

“Well, you certainly _were_ broken,” Loki says, grinning. Odin’s madness is a fond memory for her husband, and given the Allfather’s lack of sympathy when Loki was pretty much out of his mind, Eleanor can’t totally blame him for it.

“But you’re not anymore,” Eleanor says.

“You have to tell them that I am at fault,” Odin begs, clutching Eleanor’s hands. “I attacked you. I was driven mad with grief.”

“We will. When everyone calms down,” says Eleanor.

“And tell them that I remembered everything years ago, but did nothing to change this arrangement because it is working. You are very good at this, Blue. Bloki. Loki! Even if ruling bores you.”

Eleanor beams as a stunned Loki gapes up at the Allfather.

“And now the baby. We must tell them,” continues Odin, oblivious to Loki’s silence.

“So.” Jane drags Thor along by his wrist, obviously determined to make some sort of progress. She deliberately pauses with a good ten feet between them and where Eleanor and Odin stand beside Loki in his chair. “Why now?” she asks. “Why tell us this now?”

Eleanor shares a glance with Odin, her hands coming to rest over her stomach. Loki, unfortunately, smirks.

“True, so thorough was my impersonation I could have gone on ruling indefinitely,” says her complete ass of a husband.

"I should throw you in the white cells!" replies Thor with another predictable burst of violent rage.  Jane tugs on his arm as he looms over Loki.  "This is treason most foul!  What did you do to Father?"

"Nothing you would not have done also," Loki says, still smirking.  Odin shuffles away from the confrontation and Eleanor squeezes Loki’s shoulder. "I assure you."

"I would never harm Father!  But you hate him, still stewing over imagined slights."

Loki jerks back and his attempt at a rueful grin turns into a heartbreaking grimace.

"Imagined?" Eleanor says.  Typically, she can be the calm one, a counterbalance to her husband's mercurial tendencies.  In this moment she should be remorseful and guilty, but pregnancy or the tension or her complete exhaustion leaves her angry instead.  "Imagined slights?  Fuck you, Thor."

Everyone seems completely shocked by her outburst.

"Eleanor," Loki murmurs, reaching for her hand.

She brushes him off in favor of getting in Thor's face.  It is an impossible feat, but as she scowls up at him his expression of shock and shame is deeply satisfying.

“Sister? What is the meaning of this?” he asks.

“The slights aren’t fucking _imagined_! You played a part in all this.”

“It was not I that attempted genocide twice! It was not I that attempted to enslave your people. It was not I that committed such treason and damaged our father! What have I done to garner your wrath?”

“You want to know?” she asks, voice rising. Her hands clench into fists at her sides. “Do you really think you can handle it? Because you are part of it, bucko.”

“Me? I do nothing but love him. It is much more than he deserves!”

“How many times did you mock him for his magic and intelligence? How many times did you best him with your own superior strength?” she asks.

“Actions of a child,” Thor replies. “I recognized my brother’s value as a warrior, as unconventional as his tactics maybe.”

“Did you ever tell him?”

Thor grimaces.

“How often did you play at slaughtering Jotunns?”

“Again, the actions of a child.”

Eleanor snorts, shaking her head. “Two days before Loki’s attempt at genocide, you would have done the same damn thing. Two days before you wanted to destroy them all. He was emulating you. You, his big brother, the strong one. The worthy one. He was mimicking the actions of the one Odin chose.”

Looking adequately horrified, Thor hangs his head and Eleanor’s anger cools slightly.

“Eleanor, really,” Loki mutters.

“You know I’m right,” Eleanor continues. “You know you spent a thousand years dismissing him. You know Odin raised him to hate what he is, raised you both that way. You know that you played a part in this.”

Thor says nothing.

"He's wrong," she says, losing steam.  "He's done horrible things and he shouldn't have lied to you about his death.  I can't even imagine living with the pain of that, but if I ever hear you say _imagined slights_ again, I will erase you.  I'll look through you.  I won't hear you when you speak. You will not exist to me, Thor Odinson. This is it. Last chance."

Thor nods and Jane wraps an arm around his waist as she stares at Eleanor as if she is a stranger.

She feels a bit like a stranger.

“Eleanor?” Loki asks. He’s on his feet, hands on her shoulders, voice in her ear.

Odin whines.  Sometime during Eleanor's spiel, he dropped to the floor.  His knees are pulled to his chest and he rocks.

"Oh, Odin," she says, kneeling beside him.  She rubs his back.  "I'm sorry.  It's okay now.  It's okay."

He nods and stops rocking, but makes no move to stand.

"What did you do to him?" Thor asks again, calmer now.

Loki sighs and tells the whole story of how he ended up on the throne in a tone of contrived boredom. “The magic backfired and Odin's brain shut off,” finishes Loki.  “Sigyn explained it all much better than I, and he is much improved."

"Different," Odin says.  "Not wrong.  Right, Blue?"

"Yes, yes," says Loki.  "I truly had no plans to seize the throne until Odin was incapacitated."

"So when I told Father of my decision to give up the throne..." says Thor.

Loki is smirking again.

"Liar!" Thor booms, moving in on Loki again,  "Poisonous snake!"

"You are a bloody fool for thinking any different!" Loki shouts.

Eleanor just wants to sleep. Odin whines and takes her hand.

"I thought you dead!" Thor says, shoving his brother.  Loki stumbles.  "I was wrecked.  I grieved.  How could you?"

"How could I?  How could I?  It was the only way to keep safe.  To keep Eleanor safe!"

"I would have protected you."

"Even from Father?  He gave me one chance when he confined me to my rooms.  For the treason of leading you to the Dark World he would have had my head!"

"He would not!"

"Would so!"

"Would not!"

Odin whimpers and begins to rock again as his sons hurl around accusations.  Eleanor's had enough.

"I'm pregnant," she says, hands moving over her stomach.

"Ellie?" says Jane, at her side as their husbands continue to scream at each other.  "What did you say?"  Jane's hand is warm on her shoulder.

She takes a deep breath.  "I'm pregnant!"

This time her declaration is loud enough to cut through the bellowing brothers.  Loki falls back into his chair, defeated.  Thor seems frozen.

"Is…" Jane clears her throat.  "Is it even possible?  Genetically, we are looking at three distinct species here."

"Perhaps it should not be possible," Loki mutters.  "But regardless, it has happened.  And it is why we called you here.  I am afraid I need your help, Brother."

"Help?  For three years you have me convinced of your death, and now you dare ask me for help?"

"Well, yes."

Thor growls.

Loki grimaces again and looks at Eleanor for a long moment.  She gives him an encouraging smile and a nod.

"Thor," he says, looking faintly ill.  "I apologize."

The God of Thunder gapes.

"It was cruel of me, to allow you to believe me dead, and I am sorry, truly sorry, for the sadness this brought you."

"Twice, Loki.  I thought you dead _twice_."

"It will not happen again."

"Oh? Why should I trust you?"

Loki shrugs.  "Fatherhood will undoubtedly change me.  No more mischief.  No more tricks."

Thor nods and takes the seat across from Loki.  Jane and Eleanor join them, the table separating each couple as the Allfather loiters, pacing and wringing his hands.

"What help could you require from me?" Thor asks.  "I am no expert in infants."

"Thor, he obviously can't keep ruling," Jane says, rolling her eyes slightly.   "How the hell would he explain that to his child?  If he wants to be a father, he's going to need to come back to life.  And Odin will not be going back to the throne."

"No, no.  That is done.  I would rather paint." Odin scowls at Jane as if she deserves the vilest of punishments for associating his name with the word throne.

"Right," says Jane.  "So who does that leave?"

"Oh," says Thor, deflating. 

"We do have several cousins next in line," says Loki.

"They are fools," replies Thor, glaring.

Loki opens his mouth to taunt Thor about his own intellect, but somehow refrains at the last moment.

"It's going to be you," Jane says, appearing a bit faint.  "The moment I saw the Allfather like this, I knew we'd move back here.  There is only you." 

"I would rather pretend that Loki is dead and that Odin is sane," mutters the thunder god.

"Like Loki is just going to let Eleanor get huge with apparently no husband?  I know they love her here, but having a kid out of wedlock isn't going to go over well.  Who would the father be?"

"She will be blue of hair," Loki says.  "Her origin will be obvious.  I must come back from the dead.  It is the only way."

"Her?" says Thor, beaming. 

"Blue?" asks Jane, apparently fascinated.

"Tesseract vision," Eleanor explains, shooting Loki a glare.  "One I very recently heard about."

Her husband sighs and wraps an arm around her, kissing her temple.  His magic warms her and Eleanor's eyes droop.

"King," Thor murmurs, dazed.  "I... I do not want this."

"It's not only your birthright, Brother, but your responsibility," Loki replies with a smile that is eons away from happy.

"It will ruin me.  I fear I was lose my goodness."

"Like I did," Odin says.

"I think Eleanor is about to pass out," says Jane.  "Let's sleep on it."

Loki pulls Eleanor to her feet, wrapping an arm around her waist. They bid Odin good night and move towards the door, pausing at the sound of Thor’s unnaturally soft voice.

“Such a talented liar you are,” he murmurs. “When you died in my arms, I thought it true.”

“It was true,” replies Loki, staring intently at his feet. “Death simply proved momentary."

* * *

 

The sun is high in the sky when she opens her eyes in the morning.  There is another person in her bed, but it isn't Loki.

"Morning," she croaks at Jane.  Her back aches slightly, but while she was sleeping Loki obviously gave her a touch up on the magic that's keeping her temperature reasonable.

"They are fighting again," Jane says.  "In Odin's tower.  They’re really going at it."

"I'm not surprised," Eleanor replies, closing her eyes again.  "Loki really fucked up this time.  I told him and I told him that eventually Thor would find out, and here we are."

"You didn't want him to do all this?"

"No, not at first.  But Thor was happy to return to Midgard with you, and Loki's so good at it.  Eventually I just went along for the ride."

"Huh," says Jane. "I knew something weird was going on here.“

"I'm sorry for lying to you, Jane," she says.  "I really am sorry.  I know he's your friend too and that you grieved."

"Yeah, I'm pretty pissed about the whole thing.  But it looks like I am going to become a freaking queen and I need your help, so I'll just have to get over it."

"We'll figure it out," Eleanor says.

"We always do. I’m still so fucking mad at you.”

“That’s fair.”

“But I won’t be forever.”

They lay there in silence for a long stretch of time.  Eleanor falls mostly back asleep before hunger becomes a more pressing need.

"Hey, Jane?"

"Hum?"

"I'm going to have a baby."

And for the first time since all the secrets came to light, her best friend smiles.

* * *

 

"Where's Odin?" Eleanor asks as she enters the royal living quarters.  "Did he eat?"

Jane laughs.  "You already sound like a mom."

"He is painting and I know not if he ate.  You need not hover so now that he's improved, Eleanor,” Loki grumbles.

She kisses him in greeting and then takes a plate up to Odin's studio.  The brothers are silently glaring at each other when she returns.

"What happened?" she asks.

"You missed a pissing contest on who is better suited for the throne," supplies Jane.

Eleanor rolls her eyes.  "Oh, for fucks sake.  You are both massively flawed."

Both gods stop glaring at each to start glaring at her.

"Thor, your big heart will make it impossible for you to make the hard decisions that go along with ruling.  And Loki, I love you, but protecting your people is never going to be your first instinct.  You are a little too cruel, a little too mischievous, a little too enraptured with chaos."

"Mischief and cruelty, perhaps, but not chaos," her husband corrects.  "Not anymore."

"Really?" she asks.

"Chaos tends to breed uncontrollable destruction and I have not been willing to risk that for a long while.  Not with you so fragile and half mortal."

She abruptly leans down to give him a kiss.

"Really, Sister," mutters Thor.

"Chaos or no chaos, you guys are still both totally flawed," she says.  "And it's brilliant.  How do you two not see it?"

Thor frowns at her in confusion.

"See what, exactly?" snaps Loki.

"You complement each other perfectly," she says.  "Two sides, same coin.  You need to do this together.”

“Do what together, Eleanor?” asks her husband.

“Rule.” 

Loki rolls his eyes.

"And how can I trust him to provide council that benefits the realm?  Rather than his own self-serving interests?" Thor asks.

"He's done a pretty damn good job serving the realm these last three years," Eleanor says. 

"He should be thrown in a white cell," Thor mutters.

"Oh, I don't see that happening, Brother."

"You think me so easily manipulated?"

"No, but Father would never allow it.  He likes me now."

* * *

 

“It’s a good idea,” Jane tells Eleanor several hours later. They sit on the balcony with Odin, sunning themselves and sipping on fruity – non-alcoholic in Eleanor’s case – drinks. Behind them Eleanor has a string quartet of instruments playing. The music serves to calm Odin and keeps the sounds of the brothers screaming at each other from reaching them.

“What is?” Eleanor asks, squinting at her best friend.

“The dual rule thing. It’s perfect really, when you think about it. And you’ve been thinking about it for awhile, haven’t you?”

“Kinda,” Eleanor admits.

“I like this plan,” says Odin. “Very good for the realms. Very good for our family. Yes, yes.”

Eleanor smiles into her fizzy juice.

“And if our husbands share the throne, that means you and I would too, right?” Jane asks, earnest and terrified. This is so far out of the scientist’s comfort zone.

“Either way, I’ll help you, Jane. You won’t have to figure out how to be Queen of Asgard on your own. I’ll help and keep doing the boring stuff if you want. Don’t worry. We’ll find you some nice, Asgardian science.”

Jane visibly relaxes.

* * *

After three days of senseless bickering during which Loki and Thor seem determined to hurt the other as much as possible by bringing up truly ancient history, Eleanor loses all patience. 

"I don't give a fuck," she finally says, speaking for the first time in hours.  Odin shuffled off to paint five minutes after his sons sat down, and Jane bailed about an hour after that, more interested in touring the healing rooms with Sigyn than sitting through this again.

Only Eleanor is left to remind the pair of godly idiots that they are in fact responsible for ruling the universe's most powerful realm, not just brothers apparently determined to hash out every grievance between them for the last thousand years.

Maybe at first this was cathartic, but now it is completely unproductive.

At her quiet declaration of not giving a fuck, both gods turn to blink at her where she sits at the head of the table, studiously ignoring her breakfast.

"Pardon, Sister?" says Thor, clearing his throat and glaring at Loki again.

Loki sighs at Eleanor and then returns his brother's glare.

"I don't give a fuck," Eleanor repeats, crossing her arms over her chest.  "I don't give a fuck who broke Prince Ludvig's foot or who actually was responsible for victory at The Battle of Broke Bucket Bridge.  You two are ruining good memories, fighting about irrelevant shit to avoid your real problems."

Loki expels a great huff of air and slumps back in his seat.  Thor gapes.

"I did not see it, but now that you've said the words I believe you are correct.  Eleanor, really, you are quite brilliant, aren't you?" says the thunder god.

And that right there is her main problem with her brother-in-law.  He's just now noticing her brain.  There is a reason she can hang with Loki and it really isn't her pretty face and powerful voice.

"Look," she says, shifting in her seat, trying to get comfortable.  She has to wait a few moments before continuing because Loki deems it necessary to run off in search of a pillow for her to sit on.  When he returns and gets her situated, his hand lingers on the nape of her neck, renewing the magic he works to keep her warm.  It's a spell Eleanor could easily learn herself, but she'd rather Loki touch her.

"Look," she says again when her husband is once more settled in his seat across from Thor, and the brothers are glowering at each other again.  "Loki, can you just admit that you've fucked up a whole lot in the last decade, and that you are sorry that Thor had to live with thinking you dead on two separate occasions, and that you know you committed treason by pretending to be Odin all these years?"

Loki begrudgingly nods.

"And Thor.  Can you please admit that you spent most of your life devaluing Loki, intentionally or not, and that despite the circumstance, Loki's actually done a pretty damn good job as King of Asgard?"

Thor begrudgingly nods.

"And can you both agree that blood doesn't matter and that in everyway that counts, you are brothers."

More begrudging nodding. Eleanor wonders if parenting is going to be like this.

"You both need each other.  Thor, you need Loki to keep you from losing yourself when you become king.  Without Loki there to share the burden, all those hard decisions are going to turn you into Odin, how he was before the accident, when he was bitter and cruel and totally lost sight of the importance of his family."

"Yes," Thor mutters, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes.  "Yes, alright.  I admit it."

"And Loki, you need your brother's forgiveness, not only to stay out of the white cells, but because he is your older brother and his approval is important to you.  Plus, we need all the help we can get figuring out this pregnancy situation."

"Yes," drawls Loki, studying his nails.  "Whatever."

It feels like a great victory but Eleanor is hardly done.

"I still think you need to do this together. And if a dual rule thing is going to work, you have to do it as equals," Eleanor murmurs.  "I really, truly believe that if you two can set aside all your bullshit, all the bad blood between you, that you are perfectly suited to do this as brothers."

The princes are quiet.  Eleanor gives them a moment to absorb what she is saying before pressing on.

"Legally, technically, to the public, Thor will be king.  I don't think there is any way to get around that, not right now.  Maybe in a couple centuries Asgard will be in a place where we can figure out an institutionalized dual rule situation, but you both need to prove yourselves to the people before any huge changes are made.  They are already struggling to change their perception of Jotunheim.  And we are going to have to announce that Loki is actually not dead. One thing at a time. But in practice, behind closed doors, you two have to be equals.  That is the only way.  Thor, you can't throw around the weight of your title when you disagree, and Loki you can't bail when you get frustrated or offended or whatever.  You'll have to figure out how to compromise."

"Like Thor is capable of such a thing," mutters Loki, every bit the sullen little brother in this moment.

"You belong in prison!" shouts Thor in reply.  "I can't believe I am even considering such an arrangement after all you've done to betray Asgard, to betray me!  How can I rule with a liar?"

"Do not call me a liar and think yourself so above it.  You'll need a liar for this task.  The lies and manipulations ruling requires will overwhelm you within a week."

Thor of course retorts and off they go again.  At least now they are fighting about the right things.

By the end of the day, Thor’s agreed not to throw Loki in a white cell and they develop a lie to explain his rebirth.

* * *

 

"If not for your current state, growing my child, I would slay you where you lie," Loki mutters, crawling into bed beside his wife.  He pulls a blanket above their heads, creating a safe little cave in the dark where there is Eleanor only.  Thor does not exist here, with his anger and his insistence that he can rule better without Loki's help than with it.  There is no insane Allfather, so different from the father of his youth and the enemy of recent years. 

Here with Eleanor, there is no need to sit through one exhausting conversation after another as they attempt to figure out what comes next for the Realm Eternal.  He cares not what happens next for the Realm Eternal, but it is only after they dispense with this bureaucratic nonsense that they will be able to focus on the only thing that truly matters.

The little life Eleanor harbors.

In the dark, Loki's palm finds his wife's annoyingly flat abdomen.  The life of their child warms his hand, makes him hum.

"Slay me, huh?" Eleanor asks, voice sleepy and amused.

"Yes.  Chastising Thor for use of the term imagined slights.  Suggesting we rule in tandem when you know full well he will only reject me," Loki replies.  He meant to joke, to tease, but in his last statement his dread seeps through.

"I don't think he's going to reject you," Eleanor says.  "He needs you.  You need each other, to make ruling remotely bearable and as successful as possible."

"You dream, my sweet songbird."

"We'll see," replies his wife.  "Are you nervous about tomorrow?"

"Nervous?  Why ever would I be nervous?"

"Oh man.  You're more nervous than I thought.  It's okay.  I'm nervous, too.  This whole surprise! Loki's Not-Dead party is going to be so awkward.  For both of us," Eleanor turns her back on him and then pulls his arm over her waist.  When he holds her close to his chest, Eleanor sighs.

He wonders if it will ever stop being unbelievable, the love he's managed to win from this woman.

"It's going a lot better than I thought it would," says Eleanor, on the very edge of sleep.

"We've fought nonstop for near on a week."

"Progress," she whispers.

"Progress."

* * *

 

"Fandral, if you touch my face one more time I will remove your hands from your wrists and stitch them to your cheeks so you can know the annoyance of being constantly prodded," snaps Loki.

"But, you're alive!" replies Fandral, reaching out for Loki once more.  His hands are smacked away.  "How is this possible?  Three years dead and suddenly here you are."

"As I explained, Fandral," says Thor.  "He's been away, killing the last vestiges of the Dark Elves.  It was prudent the universe thought him dead, as it provided him protection from his enemies."

"And there are so many of them," mutters Sif.

"I missed you too, Sif," says Loki, sneering. 

Eleanor moves to his side, pulling his arm over her shoulders.  He squeezes her a bit, grateful for her silent support. Being out of their rooms without his typical illusion is highly uncomfortable.

"Who knew of this?" demands Volstagg.

"Princess Eleanor and myself," Thor says.  His lying leaves much to be desired and Loki sighs heavily.  "Jane and of course the Allfather."

In the back of the war room where they've gathered lingers Sigyn.  Her arms are crossed over her chest and she looks extremely suspicious.  Loki grimaces as it is obvious from her posture, her expression, that she’s determined the truth. Eleanor hides her face against Loki’s shoulder to avoid her friend’s gaze.

"And why is he free to walk about the palace?" Sif asks.  "Shouldn't he be returned to confinement in his room?  Or better yet the white cells."

"You have no understanding of the danger Loki willingly put himself in to keep the realms safe.  His campaign was nearly suicidal and he has done a great service for the crown.  His debt is paid and his sentence served.  Loki is free."  Thor's voice is so flat it has Eleanor wincing.

"Oh, really?" asks Volstagg.  "And what does the Allfather have to say?"

"Yes, where is our king?" Sif echoes.

"Father agreed readily to this plan.  He sent me to share these glad tidings."

They don't look particularly convinced, except for Fandral who continues to stare at Loki with an aggravating amount of wonder in his expression.

"And I have a second announcement," Thor says, barely hiding his frown.  "As Jane and I are now married, and with Loki finally returned to us, it is long past time I take up my rightful post as King of Asgard.  The coronation will be before the new moon."

This news is enough to distract the warriors from Loki's suspicious reappearance.  They swarm the once more future King of Asgard, leaving Loki and Eleanor free to silently slip out of the room.

* * *

 

"Father, it would be like rewarding Loki for a decade of poor behavior," Thor says, yet again, not long after they sit down for family dinner.  Despite the announcement that Loki still lives, they serve themselves in Odin's tower instead of dining in the Great Hall, both for the privacy and to keep the extent of Odin's altered mental state from the general public.

"You think playing your second and calling you king will be a reward?" replies Loki, yet again.

"We would be ruling as equals, would we not?" snaps Thor. “No seconds.”

"And that is the real problem you have with this whole proposition!" counters Loki.  "Even in private, you cannot stomach the thought of a Frost Giant as your equal.  I am the younger, weaker brother, making up for my lack of brute strength with all manner of tricks.  How could I ever equal the _mighty_ _Thor_?"

"You are not simply a Frost Giant, but also my brother.  It’s your actions that prevent me from making this agreement.  How foolish would I be, to make the liar who attempted genocide on multiple realms, incapacitated my king and father, and then treasonously usurped the throne for himself, my equal in rule!"

"This is really fun," says Jane, refilling her goblet of wine.

Eleanor lifts her juice in a silent salute of agreement.

"No, no," says Odin, covering his ears.  "No fighting."

"But, Father—" attempts Thor.

"It matters not what he's done," says Odin.  "But what arrangement will most benefit the realm."

"And Loki in such a position of power will benefit the realm?" sputters Thor.

Eleanor rolls her eyes.  "He's done a pretty fucking good job so far," she reminds her brother-in-law. "Loki is good at this, Thor.  And with his family living on this realm, me and this baby, do you really think he would do anything to compromise the safety of Asgard?  He's not going to be working against you.  He's not going to be secretively scheming to serve his own purposes.  His only priority is the safety and happiness of us.  Why would he try to sabotage your rule?"

"Thank you, my dear," says Loki.  He pulls her chair a bit closer to give her a quick, chaste kiss.

"Or you could just do this all on your own," Eleanor continues.  “Loki and I would be perfectly happy moving to the mountains or something with your niece.  Living a peaceful life without the pressure of ruling.  Doesn't that sound lovely, sweetheart?"

"It truly does, my love."  

Thor crosses his arms over his chest, nearly pouting. "I should throw you back in your old cell."

"No," says Odin, reaching across the table to pile more meat onto his plate.  "I like him.  I like Blue."

"Thank you, Odin," says Loki, smirking at his brother as he throws his arms up in the air, completely exasperated.

"Do you want to come with us when Loki and I move to the mountains to live our peaceful life with our daughter?" Eleanor asks the Allfather.

"Can I paint there?" asks Odin.

"Of course."

"Then yes."

"Now see here—" Thor’s indignant rant is interrupted by a pounding on the door.  It's been a long time since any have dared to get so close to the great doors to Odin's tower – since Loki threated them all with pain and death if they even thought about entering – and no one seems to know how to respond now.

Odin wrings his hands and looks to Loki.  Her husband clears his throat and rises.  After a quick conversation with a startled servant, he returns with a slip of paper.

"A note from Heimdall," he says, reading.  "Lau is dead."

"Who is Lau?" asks Thor.

Eleanor snorts and Loki shakes his head.

“What?” demands Thor. “Who is this Lau?”

“One of Laufey’s daughters. The evil one,” Eleanor replies. "How?  What happened?"

"In a final, glorious battle she was defeated by the other one.  Or so I am told," Loki says, completely unbothered. Thor snags the note from Loki’s hand as he drops into his seat.

"The other one?” Eleanor asks.  “You mean Fey?"

"Yes."

"Well fuck.  That's great.  Isn't it?" Eleanor asks.  Suddenly she feels unspeakably awkward, celebrating the death of her husband's sister. 

Loki's managed to impregnate her with an impossible child, and with a few easy word's Bragi's rewritten her origin story, and Loki’s not-death is now public knowledge, but the universe ploughs on, one daughter of Laufey killing the other in a final, glorious battle.

"It is indeed great," Loki replies, nodding.  "A treaty between the crown and Fey's new regime is in order.  This will give her legitimacy and show our people that it was no mistake to support one Jotunn faction over the other.  And when that is done, in some months, we will need to invite Fey here, have some sort of official ceremony to celebrate our new alliance and bring Fey into the inter-realm politics.  Best to do all we can now to prevent conflict in the future, correct? Though we should wait until Thor is coronated to make sure it is clear that this new alliance with Fey will not languish with Odin.”

With a furrowed brow and wary expression, Loki glances at Eleanor, seeking her confirmation, her praise.

Suddenly she is overcome by fierce pride for the man she's tied her life to.  Maybe securing a peaceful future is not instinctual for him, but that didn't stop him from doing real and lasting good with the short time he sat on the throne.  Suddenly she loves him more than she did just a few minutes ago, something she didn't think was possible, and suddenly the necessity of Loki stepping down as king (treasonous though the situation may be) is such a tragedy for Asgard and a waste of Loki's considerable talents.

And for once, Thor is thinking the same thing. He is wide-eyed and pale, as if he is just now figuring out how hard being king is actually going to be.

“Perhaps I should reconsider this dual-rule proposition,” mutters the thunder god.

Eleanor does her very best not to appear smug.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1st beta: Heather  
> Final beta: Erica
> 
> Big thanks to everyone reading, following, reviewing, etc. You are so lovely!
> 
> Hey anyone around here heard of this little site called Tumblr? I have one of those. Come say hi!
> 
> jaxington.tumblr.com


	22. Coronation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EVERYONE IS SO LOVELY THANK YOU FOR READING.
> 
> The best betas are Heather and Erica. Just sayin'.
> 
> jaxington.tumblr.com if you wanna say hi...

"Behold," Eleanor says, when she finally manages to gather Sif, Sigyn, and Jane out on the balcony.  "The chart!"  Her voice is a perfect imitation of the green aliens from Toy Story as they stare up at the claw.  She grins at her friends, but two are aliens themselves with no grasp of the greatness of Disney/Pixar (Eleanor vows to start movie night), and Jane probably couldn't get past the scientific impossibility of living toys and never watched the whole thing. 

Darcy would understand.

Pregnancy is making Eleanor a bit strange, and her friends blink back at her.  With no more fanfare she waves her hand and the board turns, displaying a glittering web depicting the Asgardian elite and their connections.

“What are you wearing?” asks Sif. Slinging an arm over the back of the seat, she casually fiddles with Sigyn’s hair.

Eleanor glances down at her admittedly ridiculous attire. Since last night Loki’s magic just isn’t cutting it to keep her warm, so she’s compensated with Midgardian sweats, two scarves, a fur cap, and a puffy vest. The whole thing is topped off with Loki’s ancient fur cloak and leather gloves.

Before this little meeting, Sigyn showed up early to try and figure out why Eleanor was suddenly immune to warming magic. She was unsuccessful on that front, but then really laid into Eleanor about the whole lying thing.

“Nido is Odin!” she shrieked. “You weren’t even that subtle! I am a fool that assisted you in disguising Loki’s death and hiding the condition of the Allfather and committing treason!”

“Thor knew,” Eleanor replied, with a shrug. The guilt of lying about this stopped affecting her many years ago. “You did your duty and I can’t give you all the facts, but Thor knew that it was really Loki on the throne.”

“And now you ask me to hold my silence?”

“Yeah, pretty much. For king and country and all that.”

Sigyn sighed and calmed slightly. “I feel uncomfortable, keeping my silence.”

“Who would you even tell?” Eleanor asked, trying not to be irritated. “Thor, Odin. They both know. Who’s left?”

“Sif,” replied the healer after a long pause. “I’d rather not lie to Sif.”

“Tough. You’re going to have to,” she replied.

Eleanor watches the pair now – Sif laughing at Eleanor’s outfit, Sigyn smiling at the warrior indulgently – pleased that her suspicions seem to be proving correct. Eleanor is glad for them. Someone around here deserves some uncomplicated happiness.

“I’m cold,” Eleanor says. “Just going out on a limb here, but I’m thinking it might have something to do the fact this thing growing in me is half-Frost Giant. So back to the chart.”

"Oh boy," Jane says.  "I'm supposed to memorize all this?"

"In a couple months, you'll officially be Queen of Asgard.  You need to get on it," Eleanor says, snapping her fingers at Jane. The gesture is completely useless with the gloves. 

She recalls being in Jane's position, when Frigga expected Eleanor to learn a whole new culture and people in very little time.  Again, Eleanor wonders if Frigga had any idea that Eleanor would one day become the teacher.

Jane groans and slumps lower in her seat, her chin touching her chest. Eleanor quells the urge to recite Frigga’s Princess Lesson on posture.

“Queens tend to have better posture,” Sif says.

Jane shoots the warrior a glare but sits up straight, so straight it is parody of good posture.

"Okay," Eleanor continues, rubbing her hands together and trying not to giggle.  "The whole thing is color coded.  People outlined in purple are predisposed to liking you."

Jane blinks.  "There are six people on there outlined in purple, Ellie!"

"Right.  Me, Loki, Thor.  Fandral.  Volstagg.  Oh, and Bragi if he ever gets out of jail.  He's got a thing for mortals.  But no, he has no influence.  He doesn't count."  Eleanor waves her hand and her father's face disappears from the board.

"Why am I not outlined in purple?" asks Sif, already glaring at Eleanor.

"Don't make me say it.  I'll just piss everyone off."  Sif's centuries-long crush on Thor does not predispose her to liking Jane. 

Sure, she's since found Sigyn and she seems to be making a real effort with the future queen, but still.

"Change it to purple," grumbles Sif.

"Thank you, Sif," Jane says.  "Back to six.  Yes!"

"Your sarcasm is not appreciated here, your highness," says Eleanor.

Jane pulls a throw pillow into her lap, doubling over to scream into it.  She straightens a moment later, smoothing her hair and trying her best to look royal after such an undignified display.  "What is red?"

Eleanor winces.  "Wouldn't you rather hear about green?  Green are the people that love me and therefore will someday love you, probably."

"What is red, Eleanor?"

"Hey, you just sounded like a queen just then," says Eleanor making Sigyn chuckle and Sif roll her eyes.

"Ellie!" Jane shrieks.

"Red are the people that are probably going to hate you forever," she admits.  "Mostly they wanted to be queen, or wanted someone in their family to be queen.  Honestly, they are just going to be waiting around for you to die so they can start pressuring Thor again. Or they have a problem with the whole, mortal-on-the-throne thing. Most of them have a problem with the whole mortal-on-the-throne thing, but this is just the elite. The people, the ones who actually matter, they love me, and are therefore much more open to the whole situation."

Jane is screaming into the pillow again when Loki suddenly appears on the balcony, accompanied by shouting and grunting.   Eleanor stares for a long moment. They all do, as it appears the newly pardoned and reinstated Prince of Asgard has brought a prisoner to his own rooms.

“Unhand me, swine!”

“Perhaps if you could stop trying to escape and allow me to explain!”

“I will squeeze your skull until your eyeballs pop forth from their sockets, rolling to my feet where I will promptly stomp upon them!”

There is nothing to do for a few shocking moments but watch Loki struggle to control the chained Frost Giant.  And the creature truly is giant.  It is hard to imagine Loki as the runt of anything when he’s standing around with a solid foot on Eleanor, but the Jotunn growling at Loki as if its most pressing desire is to rip off his head with its teeth is at least two feet taller than her husband.

"Calm yourself!" Loki shouts, his normally quiet, low drawl replaced with booming like Thor's as he tries to be heard and not lose his head.  "I mean you no harm!"

"Your minions stole me from my bed as I slept!"  The voice is full of gravel, but still feminine.  Eleanor gets a bit more interested in the proceedings and removes a couple layers, suddenly embarrassed to be dressed like this in front of company. 

"Harm has been done, you barbarous fiend!” continues Loki’s prisoner.  “I know not who you are, but we have an alliance with Asgard that you have just destroyed!  If you mean to kill me, than at least free my hands and fight, you tiny craven prick!"

Eleanor laughs and the Jotunn stops fighting her chains to take in her surroundings.  She frowns at Eleanor, red eyes blinking.  When she spots Sif she turns murderous once more. 

"You!  You liar!  I trusted you.  Trusted you with my people and now you abduct me?" shrieks the Jotunn.

"I had no knowledge of this," insists Sif, also glaring at Loki.  She gets up, hand on the sword at her hip as she places herself between a cowering Sigyn and the Jotunn. 

Jane looks pretty freaked out too, but curiosity is definitely winning out over fear.  Eleanor isn't particularly frightened but she does think her husband is a rash idiot, although she's pretty sure she's figured out his intention here.

"What is the meaning of this, Loki?  You will undo all the Allfather's work to make peace with Jotunheim with this latest stunt," says Sif.

Loki chuckles.

The Jotunn roars.  "Loki!  The destroyer of my world?  The one who slaughtered my father?"

"Oh, like you are upset that I killed the cruel king," says Loki, rolling his eyes.  "You wanted him dead."

"I had plans! Subtle, perfect plans that might have spared my people years of war and famine.  That would have seen my sister incapacitated long ago and spared me the need to slay her with such brutality. I'll kill you for this!"

"Whoa," says Eleanor, hands up approaching the irate – and rightfully so – Jotunn. She calms once again, apparently shocked to be approached by such a small woman.   "No one is killing anyone.  Are you Fey?"

"I see no reason to answer the inquires of an Asgardian child.  I spit on this whole affair."

"Yeah, it's pretty fucked up that Loki just stole you away.  My husband can be kind of inconsiderate like that, but I promise his intentions are good, even if this was really misguided.  I'm sorry."

Fey's red eyes narrow as she appraises Eleanor.  "You are no child."

"Eleanor."  She introduces herself, extending a hand, now free of its glove.  Loki doesn't like that at all, but after a look from Eleanor he says nothing.  Fey cautiously touches the back of Eleanor's hand.  "I've been wanting to meet you for years."

"So you had your husband steal me?  To what purpose, small one?"

"No," says Eleanor, smiling at her sister-in-law.  "I would have definitely talked him out of this one if he bothered to tell me about it.  He stole you because we need your help.  He should have just asked you to come here, but he didn't because he's scared."

Fey laughs.  The sound is like ice. "Your own wife mocks you, blood traitor."

Loki rolls his eyes. "She speaks true."

"You guys bicker like siblings," Eleanor says, grinning.

Loki and Fey both object mightily to that assentation.

"I'm pregnant!" Eleanor yells over the sound of their combined snapping. Like before, this announcement serves to quiet the room and Fey gapes at her, mouth falling open to reveal a set of wicked sharp teeth.  "And I understand you were some sort of midwife back in the day."

Fey stares for a long time.

"Should we depart?" whispers Sigyn. “Give them privacy?”

"No!" says Jane.  "This is way too good."

"We need your help, Fey.  I'm sorry for the way Loki went about trying to get it," Eleanor continues, ignoring her friends.

Fey takes a deep breath, expelling a blast of icy air in Eleanor direction.  "Remove my shackles."

"Mere minutes ago you threated to kill me," says Loki, holding the chain that connects Fey's wrists a bit tighter.

"I will not kill you, nor will I harm your wife.  Her, I like. She speaks what she thinks, a valuable trait indeed."

Loki hesitates, looking at Eleanor.  She nods back her encouragement.

"You will need to trust me for this, if you truly expect my help.  The shackles, spineless fiend," says Fey.

Loki waves his hand and the chains are gone.  With a growl, Fey backhands Loki right across the face, sending him flying across the room.

Sif lets out a delighted laugh as Loki groans in the corner.

Eleanor winces and then raises an eyebrow at Fey who shrugs.

"I promised not to kill him.  You can't deny he deserved that and more, Princess," says Fey.

Eleanor really cannot deny it.

“Yeah, okay. Just please don’t do it again. I really like his face.”

* * *

"What is the meaning of this!"  The future king of Asgard sweeps out onto the balcony, flanked by ten Einherjar and making a great deal of fuss. 

And noise.

The four gathered around a table, sipping wine – tea for Eleanor – stare up at him, unimpressed.  When Sigyn gets over her surprise, she gets to her feet, offers Thor a hasty bow, and then takes her seat beside Fey.  Although the Jotunn appears calm, her hand casually rests on her thigh where a weapon is undoubtedly hidden.

"More Asgardians?" she asks, watching Thor with narrowed eyes.

"Brother, the Einherjar are really excessive.  Send them to the hall and I will introduce you to our guest," says Loki.  He leans back on the loveseat he shares with Eleanor.  Like his sister, he is a picture of relaxation but he pulls Eleanor to sit a bit closer, the arm around her shoulders a defensive measure rather than an affectionate one.

"Oh, is it guest now, not captive?" asks Fey.  She smiles slightly and Eleanor hasn't figured out if the expression is supposed to be menacing or teasing.

Thor doesn't look like he finds it teasing, but he gives the order for the Einherjar to leave anyway, coming to stand behind Loki, facing Fey.

After Loki got bitch slapped across the room, the afternoon actually turned rather pleasant.  Sif and Jane went down to the courtyard to spar while the rest talked baby.  Within the first half hour of conversation, Loki, Sigyn, and Fey already came up with a brew to keep Eleanor warm. For the last few minutes, Sigyn and Fey have been excitedly comparing notes on Asgardian and Midgardian uteruses, and for the first time Eleanor thinks this might work out okay.  Even Loki seems to feel a bit better.

Eleanor will not allow Thor's interruption to make Fey go all homicidal again. "Thor," she says.  "This is Fey.  Ruler of Jotunheim.  Slayer of the menace Lau.  Savior of her People.  Perhaps you've heard of her?"

The future king sputters down at Eleanor.  "I, yes, of course I’ve heard of you, Queen Fey.  Asgard's continued mutually beneficial relationship with your realm will be a priority of my reign.  This is not the setting I envisioned meeting you and I apologize for the lack of formality.  Ideally," he says, glaring at Loki now, "the whole court would greet you and your delegation.  We would feast you and throw a great festival in your honor."

Fey grimaces.  Eleanor is reasonably certain it is a grimace.  "I prefer abduction."

"Ah, a woman of my own heart," says Eleanor.

Fey smiles that terrifying smile.  Eleanor wonders why Loki's teeth aren’t so pointy when he goes blue.

"Sit, brother.  Fey has no need for useless ceremony, nor do we," Loki says.  "The safety of my unborn child and wife is no matter of state."

"Oh," says Thor as he pulls up a chair to sit at Loki's side.  "Is that why you sent a band of Einherjar to collect our ally against her will?"

For once, Loki does not rail at his brother for being a fool, but he does roll his eyes.  "Yes, of course.  When I was organizing this alliance with Jotunheim I learned all I could of the more benevolent of Laufey's living heirs, including her birthing work before she became involved in dismantling the king's oppressive rule."

"You?" says Fey, tilting her head to the side.  "You were dead.  It was Odin who sought me out as an ally."

Loki shrugs.  "It was my doing.  For once, the Allfather listened to my wise counsel."

Fey hisses, crossing her arms over her wide chest and slouching in her seat.  "The destroyer is also our savior.  That makes it difficult to go on hating you.  Although I shall give it my best effort."

Loki laughs and smiles his real smile, the one where his tongue finds its way between his teeth.  Eleanor shares a secretive, pleased look with Thor.

"So tell me, Queen Fey—" starts Thor.

"Fey only, if you please, Asgardian."

Thor clears his throat.  "Fey, please, what think you of my sister's pregnancy? I must admit I worry."

"With good reason," Fey agrees, reaching for more wine.  "Never before has such a child existed, but theoretically such a pregnancy can be a success, although my knowledge of mortals is little."

"I'm working on that, " says Sigyn.  "Next week I will be going to Midgard to learn under the tutelage of a Dr. Bruce Banner."

Eleanor chokes on her tea and turns to glare at her husband.  "What? Are you just not telling me anything these days?"

Loki shrugs and kisses her quickly.

“He’s not even an obstetrician!”

“A what?” asks Loki.

“A baby-delivering doctor.”

“Midgardians have different types of healers?” asks Sigyn. “Fascinating.”

“Do you know who is a baby-delivering doctor? Laura.”

“Your false sister?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you even told her about this pregnancy?” asks her husband.

“No,” Eleanor admits, fidgeting in her seat. “Actually, Sigyn? You want to give my sister a call while you’re on Midgard? Let her know about this whole pregnancy deal. Invite her to come to Asgard when she’s free. Oh! And you should call my mom too. Okay?”

“Yes, Princess,” Sigyn says with a sigh and a very slight eye roll. “I will do this for you.”

“Cool,” Eleanor says, feeling like an asshole for failing to figure out how to send word to her family before now. Loki banned her from using the Bifrost in her delicate condition, and writing a letter didn’t seem quite right. “Anyway, Thor. You were saying?”

"Here..." Thor stops, carefully considering his words.  "I am afraid that Asgardians are inherently wary of all things unknown.  They feared and hated Eleanor when they first heard of her heritage."

"Called me an abomination.  Ah, the good old days."

Loki huffs.

"And it is a concern of mine that they will not willingly accept this child, as there are many who still hold old prejudice against your people, Fey.  Although this is changing.  Do your people hold similarly unfair views on such mixed children?" Thor asks.  He is so polite and careful.  Eleanor decides this is good practice for when he is king.

Fey bares her teeth.  "They best not.  It is just the sort of thing we are working to change.  Laufey was a cruel despot who started the practice of leaving small, weak, imperfect infants out to die."

At her side, Loki tenses and Eleanor sits up a bit straighter.  Under the table, her hand finds his thigh and he does not hesitate to lace their fingers together.

Fey looks murderous again, her eyes glowing as she stares at the table, seeing a memory rather than what is in front of her.  She slams a fist on the surface, making glasses rattle and Sigyn jump in her seat. 

"When he did it to you, I remember it well."  Her quite voice is nearly inaudible, so harsh and low.  "It was my first birthing, the moment I knew what I would do with my future, but when you were born, Mother took one look at you and wailed.  I did not understand her misery, despite hearing whispers of my father's practice and his goals to breed a race of perfect warriors. You were his son, his blood, and I did not understand Mother's misery.  Lau did, of course, and she left immediately, but I followed Father as he took you away, pleaded but he left anyway and returned alone.  We'd nearly lost the war at that point but I slunk out of the palace anyway, found you at the temple on the mountain, and brought you back.  I kept you in my room for two days before Father found out.  I spent the last month of the war in the dungeons.  It was where the Asgardians found me before they settled their peace accords with Father.  Why your Allfather allowed him to keep his throne is a mystery that nearly destroyed my people.  And until you turned the full power of the Bifrost on us, I thought you dead.  Lau knew it was you, knew it was you that lured Father to his doom.  And I resolved to kill you in turn, but I suppose that is one self-promise I will not fulfill, not now when your wife is so lovely and you brought us back from the brink of Lau's cruel vision for my people.  No one will hurt this child, not while I draw breath."  Fey is fierce and deadly and Eleanor believes her.

For about the fiftieth time this afternoon, no one knows what to say.

"Excuse me," Loki murmurs, standing and moving to their bedroom with forced slowness, but just before he disappears inside he pauses.  "I do apologize for how I brought you here," he says without turning to face them. 

And then he really is gone.

"Well, fuck."

"Eleanor," Sigyn gently chastises.

"This is new information for your husband," says Fey.

"Yeah."

"He's a rather complicated fellow, isn't he?" Fey asks, head tilted to the side once more.

* * *

"How are you feeling?" Eleanor asks, using the hem of her billowing green gown to remove a nonexistent smudge from the Allfather's glittering armor. Loki barely keeps from rolling his eyes, and only because his wife is pregnant.

Odin tenses his shoulders, brow furrowed and thinking hard on her question.  "Heavy," he decides, expelling a great breath of air.

"Heavy?  That doesn't sound good.  You don't have to do this if you don't want to.  We can delay the whole thing," Eleanor says.

"That is really not an option, Eleanor," Loki says, sighing.  He is not overly fond of the rare occasions when his wife elects to fuss over someone that is not Loki himself.  He supposes this unreasonable jealousy is something he will need to overcome. as in a matter of months Eleanor will have their daughter to fuss over.

Somehow Loki does not think he will mind that scenario so much.

"I know!" says Eleanor, continuing to fiddle about with Odin's ceremonial armor.  "I will disguise myself as Odin.  I'm getting better with that magic.  I can be Odin for the coronation and you can stay here and paint.  We'll just say I’m sleeping or something."

"Don't be absurd, Eleanor.  He's fine.  We've practiced.  And if he says the wrong thing, the public will simply dismiss it as age and a need to step down, which he is doing," says Loki.

"But he feels heavy, Loki," Eleanor says, very nearly whining.

"No, no," Odin shakes his head with great vigor.  "This costume is heavy.”

"Oh."  Eleanor blinks at Odin and then smiles ruefully at Loki. “Yeah, well. Armor is heavy.” She buffs away another nonexistent scuff from Odin’s chest.

“Eleanor, really,” Loki says, at the end of his patience.

"What about you?" she asks, turning to Loki when she completes her fretting over the Allfather.  "Are you all right?"

He barely manages to refrain from rolling his eyes.  If not for her pregnancy and the strange effect her hormones are having on her temperament, he'd tease her mercilessly for her worry, but she looks so genuinely distraught by the prospect of Odin unable to say the four requisite lines to officially crown Thor, or that Loki might be uncomfortable under scrutiny of all of Asgard for the first time as a free prince, a Jotunn, and a hero (false as this story might be).  Instead Loki takes his wife's face between her hands, kissing her quiet. 

Under his touch she is a shade too warm.  There is a flush to her cheeks that usually only appears in those extremely rare moments that she experiences embarrassment or when she trains with Lady Sif or when she is hot for his touch, breath ragged and eyes burning with desire.

Obviously, this is none of those situations.

"Are you quite all right?" Loki murmurs, frowning as his hands drop to her stomach, sensing the little life that grows there.  All seems well with the child who appears to be resting and content.

"Yeah," says Eleanor. 

She has a hard-earned reputation for ignoring anything unpleasant, so Loki believes her not.

"Okay, so I feel a little queasy.  It's a normal mortal pregnancy thing," she assures him, touching his hand where it rests against her womb.  "This isn't a me ignoring bad things situation.  I won't do that with this. It's too important.  I just feel a little nauseous.  That's all."

"It seems like quite a bit to me."

"Breakfast didn't sit well."

"Perhaps you should not be involved in the ceremony," he says, glancing at Odin who is watching them keenly, gripping Gungir, knuckles white.

"The ceremony is going to take twenty minutes.  I can handle it.  But if I still feel like this after, I'll skip the feast to go lie down. Okay?"

It seems like a fair compromise and Loki nods.  "Next week I am demanding that your sister come here. And she will meet with Sigyn and Fey."

The prospect of the Jotunn ruler’s return, with her anger and her tales of the past and her wicked smile, is not a pleasant one, but there is nothing Loki would not endure to ensure Eleanor and their daughter remain safe.

"Just don't kidnap anyone again, all right?"

He makes no promises.

* * *

For the second time in the last decade, Loki walks past rows of Asgardian elite in his full ceremonial armor, holding his head high as he makes his way to Odin standing before the throne, looking remarkably like the king he once was.

There are whispers as he passes this time round, while last time he was more or less ignored. 

Much has changed in the years since Thor's first coronation was interrupted by Loki's mischief – mischief that turned much more dire than he ever intended – and the Aesir certainly notice him now. 

On his arm, Eleanor is radiant, beaming and proud despite her discomfort.  She looks royal and powerful in a gown that sparkles subtly as she walks.  Although the majority of her focus appears to be on the crowd cheering and applauding as she passes, every few paces she gazes up at Loki adoringly and he realizes that this is the first time any of their audience has seen Eleanor and Loki together. They might know that Eleanor is Loki’s wife, but seeing them interact as such is a different matter entirely.

Eleanor’s arm in his gives him strength to make it through this farce of a day.

Last time it was his mother that he escorted, and this is perhaps the most painful change between this ceremony and the last.  Even worse than discovering his true heritage, and the tortures he endured at the hands of the titan, is the loss of Frigga.

It is strange to appear as himself before the public.  The horned helmet atop his head feels oddly light compared to the armor he's grown accustomed to wearing, and while his head knows that it is safe to be himself now, his body remains tense and anxious without the illusion he grew so used to wrapping around himself like the very best protection.

While Eleanor is smiling and engaging with the rows and rows of people, Loki looks straight ahead at the throne he gave up so willingly.  Despite Thor's reluctant agreement to attempt dual rule on a trial basis, Loki knows better.  Eventually they will disagree and Thor will dismiss Loki's opinion, using his legal right as king to spectacularly ruin the Realm Eternal without Loki's consent.

But his brother admitted to needing him.  It is something.

They arrive at the dais and take their position on the steps below Odin, just to the left.  He blinks at them, concerned for a moment, but he stands straight and tall again, comforted by Eleanor's reassuring smile.

Next, Sif, Fandral, Volstagg, and Hogun strut down towards the throne to take their place of honor upon the steps as Thor’s most trusted consorts.  The applause for them is actually quieter than it was for Loki and Eleanor.  It takes him a moment to remember how ardently the people love his wife, as these warriors have always been and will always be far more popular than Loki.

Eleanor is beside him still, but she moves closer as the crowd roars at the appearance of Thor and Jane.  She leans heavily into his side, squeezing his arm.  For a moment he thinks she is providing him comfort, sensing his deep disgust with this pomp and circumstance and his own resentment that Thor gets all of this ceremony while Loki got nothing, but then he recalls her flushed cheeks and nausea.

"Eleanor?" he whispers.

She shakes her head.  "I'm okay.  Just queasy."

"We should leave."

"We can't leave.  You especially can’t leave. It will look bad.  Send the wrong message.  We need to present a united front, here.  Really, it's not bad."

It is unseemly and unheard of during such ceremonies, but Loki wraps an arm around Eleanor's waist, sharing the burden of keeping her upright.  She gives him a small smile that does nothing to disguise her discomfort.

While last time Loki stood in this spot at his brother’s coronation, Thor grinned his way to the throne, triumphant and basking in the glory of the moment, now he is much more reserved.  He now looks like a king, modest and aloof, but emanating such power and confidence with every step.  Beside him Jane is wide-eyed and shaking.  The golden dress suits her ill and he's never seen the scientist look more uncomfortable.  It is a struggle to keep from laughing at the sight.

They both come to kneel at Odin's feet.  The Allfather clears his throat and begins to recite his carefully memorized lines, but his voice is too quiet.  A little of Loki's magic has him sounding like the king he once was.

“Do you swear to guard the Nine Realms?” asks Odin without much preamble. After the last disastrous coronation, and those years when Thor refused the crown in favor of languishing on Midgard, king and public alike want a short ceremony.

“I swear.”

“Do you swear to preserve the peace?”

“I swear.”

“Do you swear to cast aside all selfish ambition and pledge yourself only to the good of the realms?”

“I swear.”

“And you, Jane Foster, formerly of Midgard, do you swear as your husband swears?” asks Odin. Loki is sure that his wife is relieved that the Allfather managed to get his daughter-in-law’s name correct. Although hearing Jane proclaimed Queen Goat would have been undoubtedly amusing.

“On this day I, Odin Allfather, proclaim you Thor Odinson, King of Asgard, the Realm Eternal, and Protector of the Nine Realms, and you Jane Foster, Queen of Asgard, the Realm Eternal.”

His speech complete, Odin officially crowns Thor and then Jane, announcing the new King and Queen of Asgard.  To deafening cheers, the new King and Queen of Asgard rise and turn to face the public, raising their joined hands and smiling.  Loki lets go of Eleanor to join in the applause as he is most expected to do.

"Loki," his wife murmurs.  Her hands fist at her sides in the fabric of her dress and she sways slightly, face pale now where only moments ago she was flushed.

Before he can reach for her, a typically oblivious Thor pulls Loki into a bruising hug.

While Thor's last coronation ended abruptly with Jotunns in the weapons vault, this time it is the collapse of Asgard's most beloved princess that causes the crowd to gasp and scream.

* * *

"So the three of you are all in agreement, then?" 

Her head pounds and Loki's voice reaches her ears as if he is speaking through a pillow, muffled and too far away.

"For the hundredth time, yes."  That sounds like Laura.  Eleanor must be dreaming.  She hasn't seen Laura in a year, not since she brought her family to visit Asgard, although she is due to bring the kids and Maureen in a few weeks.  "Mother and baby are fine.  It was a blood flow issue.  The baby needed more than Ellie could give.  I can't believe you fixed it, just like that."

"Magic is quite useful at times."  And that's Sigyn.  She sounds far too cheerful, given that Eleanor's head is about to explode and that her eyelids don't seem to be listening to her commands that they open.  "I would very much like to exchange knowledge with you, Lady Laura.  Do you intend to stay long?"

"I guess," Laura says.  In her mind Eleanor can clearly see her sister's annoyed expression, equal parts put out and worried.  "I mean, I need to go home first and take off time from work and figure out how I'm going to do this with my family, but I want to be here.  Now I feel like I need to be here, or at least be in New Mexico where it isn’t so hard to get to the Bifrost.”

"I worry about the small one's growth," says Fey, her deep, rough voice a shock.  "There are things the babe needs that Eleanor is ill equipped to provide."

"Devise a way to provide it, then!" snarls Loki. 

“Calm, little one,” murmurs Fey. “I will do this and I am supremely confident in my success.”

"You best be successful. And why is she not awake?"

"I'm awake."  Her mouth is dry and her eyes are still not opening, but she is certainly awake.

"Eleanor?"  His hands cradle her face.

"What the fuck happened?"

"You collapsed during the coronation," Loki says, much gentler with her than he was with the three woman he's gathered to oversee her health care.  "Please, my sweet songbird, open your eyes."

She somehow manages to open her eyes, hissing against the bright lights that illuminate the room.  With a wave of his hand Loki dims them and Eleanor is somewhat alarmed to realize that it is completely dark outside.  She's lost hours.

"The baby?" she asks, suddenly panicking.  Somewhere a machine beeps incessantly and Eleanor attempts to sit up too quickly, her head spinning.

Four sets of hands are on her, everyone giving her instructions to move slowly and sit up with caution.  Loki hisses at them until he alone is crouching next to her, gently helping her sit up.

"The child remains unharmed," he murmurs as he props her up on pillows.  His hand comes to rest on her stomach.  "As are you.  I've never been more frightened."

"Sorry," she says, wincing.  "I really thought I was okay.  Just a little off and then all of a sudden the world was swimming around me."

"It will not happen again," Loki murmurs, pushing her hair off her forehead.  "You have been ordered to stay in this bed for the remainder of your pregnancy."

"What?"  Eleanor shrieks.  "How long is that even going to be?"

"As far as we can tell," interjects Sigyn, "In total it will be anywhere between the nine months typical of mortal pregnancy and the thirteen of the Jotunns.  Asgardians fall around twelve months."

"You want me to stay in this bed for a whole year?" Eleanor asks, scowling at her husband.

"Less now, in all likelihood," says Sigyn.  She finally succeeds in drawing Eleanor's attention away from her husband sitting on the edge of the bed at her side, to the three pregnancy experts loitering behind him.  "Time of conception is now over four months past and we will have a better idea when you are fit to deliver as we track the child’s growth.  Really, Princess.  We are all in agreement.  You must rest."

"You can walk yourself to the bathroom," says Laura, moving to sit on the bed beside Loki.  He glares his scariest glare at her, but Laura ignores him completely as she reaches out to take Eleanor's hand.  "But you can't shower unsupervised.  And you can sit on the balcony for three or four hours a day for now, but that's it, Eleanor.  You need to mostly stay horizontal and not do much walking.  Blood flow appears to be an issue.  And so does the size and stability of the uterus. We need to keep your blood pressure down."

Eleanor takes a shaky breath and nods, taking note of the hodgepodge of mortal hospital equipment, soul forges, and some strange blue rock sculptures with glowing runes.

"Wow," she murmurs.  "You guys were busy."

"Fey and I have long anticipated this need to stay off your feet.  You are lucky you've gone so long with no problems emerging.  At the first sign of stress to you or the little life, I planned to order you to bed but so far at your daily check ups all has remained well."

“Until now,” growls Fey.

“Until now,” agrees Sigyn.

"Fine," Eleanor mutters, crossing her arms over her chest.  The pounding in her head is gone and she doesn't feel so dizzy.  "I will fucking stay in this fucking bed for fucking ever."

Loki appears to be shocked by her easy agreement.

"So," says Laura.  "It looks like you are knocked up and your husband isn't dead.  This whole thing isn't shocking at all. Thanks for having your friend call me. I’m really glad we got to share the joy of this announcement together. You really made it special."

Eleanor gives her most apologetic smile and attempts to look particularly pathetic and pregnant.  "Oops," she replies."

* * *

"You really freaked everyone out," says Jane, looking far more comfortable in a pair of leather pants and a basic pink tunic as she lounges on the end of Eleanor's bed than she did in the golden dress she wore to the coronation.  "Like, there were people weeping and general chaos.  I thought Odin was going to totally lose it, and then Loki poofed you away."

"Poor Odin.  I think he slept on the balcony last night. And Loki poofed me away?"

 Jane nods and grimaces. "That's probably where all the rumors are coming from that he did something to you."

"Oh, for fucks sakes," mutters Eleanor, rolling her eyes as she adjusts the pillows keeping her propped up.

"I mean, we've announced the pregnancy and explained that you are fine, but I don't know if the public totally believes us."

"Well at this point you can't really blame the people for being suspicious," Eleanor admits.  "I mean, Loki's come back from the dead for a second time and they have Thor telling him he is pardoned and redeemed.  It's a lot."  She does not like the public’s fear and sometimes hatred towards her husband, but she actually does understand their distrust.  It's been quite the saga with Loki in recent years.  "How was the party?  I'm bummed I didn't get to sing."

"There wasn't a party," Jane says, rolling from her back to her side.  She props her head up on her elbow to better study Eleanor.  "I mean, the public still got food and drink, but no one felt much like celebrating."

"Aw, that's nice."

"After Fey, Sigyn, and Laura determined that you would be fine, Thor and I did get hammered with the warriors though."

"Sweet.  Very royal."

"And I think some of the elite were only faking sympathy which was so annoying, but the public seems really, really, really worried about you."

"Love of the people," Eleanor murmurs. 

"How did you manage that?"

"I sang for them," she replies, remembering her first performance fondly.  For once when she thinks about Frigga there is only a dull ache, rather than a sharp sting.  "And then very publicly took charge of the aid effort after the attack.  Oh, and I did have that orphanage built and reformed."

"None of that sounds like something I can do."

"We'll figure it out.  If you don't want to be in the public eye you don't have to be.  You can focus on the science.  I know that's what you want," says Eleanor.

"Well, at least while you’re on bed rest I'm going to try to fill your shoes.  As daunting as that may be."

"Yeah, this is some terrible timing for you.  Sorry, Jane."

"Do you think...  Never mind."

"No, what is it Jane?"

"Never mind!  I don't know what I'm talking about.  I've only been living here for a few months and queen for a few days.  I have no idea what I'm doing."

"Let's hear it, Foster.  Don't be shy."

"Well, I was thinking it might be good for the public to see you, alive and happy.  To see you with Loki.  They've never really seen you two together as a couple and that will ease a lot of fears that something horrible happened to you and we are just covering it up," Jane says, talking super fast.  "Is that not right?"

"It's brilliant, Jane.  We might make a queen out of you yet."

* * *

It takes four days and the very irritated assurances of three baby doctors to finally convince Loki that Eleanor can handle spending ten minutes in front of the public, looking happy and pregnant and certainly not dead at her husband's hand.  It does not bode well for these next long months, and Eleanor is reasonably certain that Loki's protectiveness is going to make her loopy by the time their daughter is born.

Eventually Loki agrees to the appearance, but when a make up celebration is organized to give the public and the crown the party they missed when Eleanor ruined the coronation, Loki absolutely bans her from attending the festivities, even for a few minutes.

Neela brings Eleanor a new dress for the occasion.  The pale green number has a modest neckline, only a little bit of metalwork at the collar, and somehow is cut to make her mostly still flat stomach appear round.

"Wow," says Eleanor to the mirror as Neela fiddles with her hair, tucking it around her tiara just so.  "I actually look pregnant."

"Well, aren't you?" asks Neela.  The teasing delights Eleanor and is not something that would have occurred just a few years ago when she was still a shy servant girl.  Now she is essentially Eleanor's personal assistant.  She's even taken over teaching music to the children Eleanor first met after the attack.

"Sure am," Eleanor replies, grinning.

* * *

Loki insists on keeping an arm securely around her waist and cannot seem to stop touching her belly until they step out onto the balcony to the thunderous cheers of the Asgardian public, gathered in the square below.  Eleanor beams and waves, allowing herself to look as happy as she feels.  It is a strange and wonderful thing, appearing with her husband at her side.  Although they've always been a team, now the public can see it.

Odin is beside them as well.  He looks stern and smaller without the shining armor of the king.  Eleanor can tell he is mentally painting something rather than paying the slightest bit of attention to the crowds.  She reaches out to squeeze his hand, earning herself a shy smile.

Thor makes some speech on the strength of the house of Odin, discussing the future and the next generation currently cooking in Eleanor.  He speaks with a bit more eloquence, but Eleanor mostly looks at Loki. 

In the sunshine he is beautiful, but so hard and impassive when he looks out at the crowds.  She can see his discomfort, but she imagines to the public he looks completely unlikable, bordering on scary.  So while Thor drones on, Eleanor playfully bumps into Loki.  He frowns down at her, raising a single eyebrow. She beams up at him and mouths "I love you" as she moves his hand from her hip to her magically round-looking stomach.  Loki immediately softens, gazing down at her like she is precious, like she's a wonder. 

When they both go back to pretending to pay attention to Thor, he looks like the adoring husband he is, rather than the terrifying menace the public thinks him to be. 

At the end of the speech the rest of the royal family waves and goes back inside.  Feeling inspired, Eleanor pulls Loki to the railing, encouraging him to wave.  He does so, appeasing her for a few moments without looking away from her face.  Deciding that the people who love her deserve a bit of a show if she is going to disappear into their bedroom for the remainder of this pregnancy, she gives him a smirk and an eyebrow waggle before pulling him down into a kiss.

The cheers are nearly deafening.


	23. Lenara

“So, what you are saying is, no sex.”

“Right.”

“None at all.”

“Yeah.”

“No sex, none at all, even though you are trapping me in a bed for months. You are trapping me in a bed for months and I can’t even do what beds are made for?”

“Beds are made for sleeping.”

“Wow, I pity you.”

“Ellie!”

“So no sex.”

“Again, yes.”

“What about oral?”

“No, Ellie. Come on.”

“Hand jobs? Groping of any kind?”

Loki leans in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, and considers intervening in this circular discussion between sisters that’s gone on far longer than necessary. Eleanor, now confined to their bed for the majority of the day, is not taking this most recent direction from her healers well. Loki isn’t overly thrilled with this sexual ban either, but abstinence seems a small price to pay to ensure that Eleanor and their daughter remain healthy.

Laura groans, burying her face in her hands as she continues to pace near the foot of the bed. Propped up on numerous pillows, Eleanor glowers.

“How about sex only three times a week,” suggests his wife.

“Only?” asks Laura, gaping.

Eleanor shrugs. “It’s a compromise.”

“No sex any times a week.”

“Twice a week?”

“No.”

“Once a week?”

“No! Look, Elle, the whole point of bed rest is to limit stress on your body. Sex is too much physical exertion,” Laura says, struggling to sound like a professional healer when it is obvious that she would very much like to strangle her younger sister.

“I’ll just lie here. Loki will do all the work.” Eleanor smirks at him. “Right, babe?”

“Do not call me babe,” he replies.

“It’s not about just lying there!” Laura says, frustration boiling over. “All the things we are trying to avoid by making you stay in bed will happen if you do it! Your blood pressure goes up, which will be really bad. Your heart rate. You can’t have sex!”

Eleanor pouts, slumping further down into her pillows.

This is the first day of this bed resting, and already Eleanor’s mood is most foul.

These months ahead are sure to be very long, very tedious.

* * *

 

"What is this?"  Loki enters his bedroom after a long morning spent at Thor's side, helping the new king navigate the arduous process of reworking the treaty to ensure continued peace and trade between Asgard and Fey's new regime.  The counsel is far from pleased, but two months into Thor's reign and so far Thor and Loki are managing to present a completely united front.

Asgard’s elders are finding it near impossible to argue with both brothers.

"Television," says his wife, happily popping a blackberry in her mouth and wiggling her toes.

"I know it is a television," he says, shrugging off his coat.  He turns toward the servant girl Neela where she sits in a chair beside the bed, a stack of sheet music in her lap.  Under his scrutiny the servant-turned-assistant-turned-director of Eleanor's choir of children cowers.  "You may go.  I will stay until two hours past midday.  You then must return or send someone to watch Eleanor in your stead."

Neela nods, bows to Eleanor and then Loki before fleeing.  Loki sits on the edge of the bed to better pull off his boots.  Eleanor has a firm _no boots_ rule in bed.  It seems preposterous now that she takes all her meals here, but Loki knows better than to challenge his temperamental wife over such a minor issue.

"You make it sound like I need a baby sitter," she says, sulking. 

"You do need a baby sitter," he replies as he continues to strip off layers of metal and leather.  "I know that this is a television.  Where did it come from?"

"Tony."

"Stark?"

"Yeah, sent it up with Laura and Jane installed it this morning.  He figured out how to power it so I don't even have to waste energy magicking it to life.  He programmed like a million movies and TV shows into this thing.  Check it out."  She begins to scroll but Loki is now in a state of undress that facilitates crawling into bed beside his wife without worrying about causing her discomfort with some bit of armor or another.

"So many want to visit my wife," he murmurs, crawling on all fours until he is looming over her, careful to keep from actually touching her, save for one hand against her cheek.

Eleanor grins up at him, arms looping around his neck.  Even in her ridiculous Midgardian hoodie and sweatpants that have become her standard bed rest wear, he finds her unbearably attractive, especially now that her stomach has started to swell.

"I'm very popular," Eleanor tells him.  "Everyone likes a pregnant lady."

"I know I do," he replies, kissing her soundly.  He then rolls off her before the whole thing can become too terribly frustrating for the pair of them.

"I haven't spent any time out of bed today," she says, staring intently at his mouth.

"Oh?"

"Eat lunch with me on the balcony?"

"Yes, lovely."

With each passing day getting Eleanor up and out of bed becomes a bit more difficult.  She moves with a slight waddle now and Loki has the good sense to keep from laughing at her, despite the humorous picture she presents with her messy hair and ill-fitting garments and ludicrous gait.  Instead he simply guides her with a hand on the small of her back to the loveseat, where he settles her, making sure she is supported on all sides with a plethora of pillows.  A fur thrown over her legs is the final touch.

"Comfortable?" he asks.

Eleanor pulls the hood of her Midgardian top over her head and nods.

He sits beside her and she immediately leans into his side.

"We need a name," she says.

"I have told you.  There is only one name I like in all the realms."

There is no need to look at her face to know that she rolls her eyes.

"We are not naming our kid Eleanor."

"But why not?" he very nearly whines.

"Because, like I've told you eight million times—"

"Exaggeration."

"It feels weird and narcissistic to name her after me.  And you hate nicknames so you'll just go around calling her Eleanor and getting mad at me when I call her Ellie or Elle or Nor and it will be confusing and terrible.  So, no."

"You are being unreasonable."

"Okay," she says in that way she always says the word when she is about to go on some sort of diatribe.  "I am pregnant with a child that is three distinct species and that's kinda traumatic, being as my weirdo body is two distinct species.  I am huge already and I still have another three to seven months of this situation left, and I'm bound to my bed, which is good because my back kills me if I sit up for more than an hour, and I'm hungry all the time, and fucking bored, so the point is I am allowed to be unreasonable, but this?  This naming thing?  I am actually being completely reasonable despite all the aforementioned reasons I have to excuse unreasonableness.  What's your excuse, bucko?  Because only liking one female name in all the realms is distinctly unreasonable."

Loki chuckles and is thankful Eleanor laughs also, instead of flying into yet another tantrum.

"You are lucky I'm so painfully in love with you," she says, fighting her smile.

"On that we agree.  Would you like me to braid your hair?"

A hairbrush appears in the palm of her hand and Eleanor hands it over, giving a silent answer.  Loki moves to stand behind her as she pulls down that thrice damned hood that she is so very fond of these days.  He takes his time working the comb through her wild locks and Eleanor hums a bit in contentment.  Loki learned to do this a month past when Eleanor first found holding her arms up to be too much of a trial and started having Neela braid her hair.  The whole thing appeared far too intimate for Loki's liking and he took over not long after.  Now he entertains himself, experimenting with different braids in elaborate patterns.  Eleanor simply laughs at his more hideous attempts and never removes his work until she bathes.

Today he goes simple, quickly putting in two braids following the crown of her head, going in opposing directions.  He is pleased with his neat work and secures the braids before pulling up Eleanor's hood once more, ever mindful of Eleanor's struggles to stay warm.

"What about Frigga?" Eleanor murmurs sometime later when Loki has a tray containing her healer-approved lunch laid out before her.

Loki pauses with a goblet of wine halfway to his lips.

"Pardon?"

"Do you like the name Frigga?"

To give himself another moment to collect his thoughts, Loki drinks long and deep.  He's of course considered this, as it is a common practice on Midgard to give children names of departed family members.  Of course he likes the name Frigga, but when he simply hears it in passing something painful stabs his heart and he could not bear speaking it so often to his daughter.

"I could not, Eleanor," Loki says.  "Speaking it is too painful.  Maybe someday saying her name will not bring me such sorrow, but now it does and I would not feel sadness when speaking with our daughter."

"Okay," Eleanor says, squeezing his hand for a moment.

And that is that. At least for now.

* * *

 

From behind his closed bedroom doors comes music, excessively loud music with too much bass and not enough melody.  He rests a hand on the doorknob and allows himself a moment to prepare to see his increasingly agitated wife. 

Four months into her bed rest with apparently at least two to go, and Eleanor is a terror.  She is huge, bored, and uncomfortable, despite the endless parade of friends that seem to pour through the Bifrost daily to sit with her.  He can hardly begrudge her discontent, but the situation wears on Loki as well. 

Often she magically plays a horde of instruments to keep herself entertained, the styles ranging from mournful orchestral pieces that quickly devolve into the absurd, or something truly horrific she refers to as _dubstep_ that seems to involve no actual instruments at all. 

Whatever is happening behind the doors today, it is certainly terrible if the pounding bass is any indication. 

Loki longs for earplugs, but the last time he attempted this trick Eleanor was inexplicably hurt by his desire to not go deaf, crying and accusing Loki of no longer appreciating her voice.  He longs for a return of his sane and steady wife, but they have some months yet until such a thing is likely.

Stealing his nerves, he pushes open the doors.

It is worse than anything he could possibly imagine and in his horror, Loki freezes

Although the wide array of floating musical instruments is rather standard, the sight of his hugely pregnant wife jumping on the end of their bed and flailing her limbs about is not.  How she is even managing to move with such agility when she typically needs assistance waddling the short distance to the balcony is a mystery, but Loki is too stunned by his wife's reckless and incomprehensible behavior to find any logical explanation for what is before him.

"Hey, baby!" Eleanor says when she sees him.  Over the loud music that vibrates the very air of the room, she must scream at him.

"What are you doing?" he hisses, stomach twisting.

"Dancing!" she replies, ceasing her jumping to do some truly bizarre pelvic thrusting that looks completely absurd given her current girth.  "I'm fucking rocking out."

"Sit down this moment!" he yells, moving to stand beneath her.  "Stop this immediately before you do lasting harm to both—"

There is giggling coming from the lump beneath the blankets on their bed and Loki has a moment of understanding and profound relief. 

Glaring up at whoever is wearing Eleanor' skin and dancing like a lunatic, he jabs two fingers into the imposter’s hip, feeling the magic ripple and dissolve.

"Hey!" shouts Darcy Lewis, now wearing her own face and using her own voice.  "Hands off the merchandise!"

Eleanor's head appears from beneath the furs and his wife is grinning widely, happier than he's seen her in days.  "Got yah!" she exclaims.

It has been centuries since someone has dared turn such mischief upon him and Loki can do little but groan as he collapses face-first into their bed.  He barely hears the sounds of Eleanor and Darcy laughing and congratulating each other for successfully causing Loki to nearly expire from fear over the sound of his pounding heart.  The music stopped when Loki figured out the prank.  It is one small blessing. 

When he is able, Loki blindly crawls up the mattress until he is resting beside his wife, groaning into her shoulder as she runs her hands through his hair.

"We got you good," murmurs Eleanor.

"We are hilarious," declares Darcy.

"You are cruel," Loki says, opening his eyes to glare at Miss Lewis.  Eleanor's brain has been malfunctioning for weeks and as such the young, annoying mortal continuing to bounce on the end of their bed is entirely to blame.

"You made me think you were dead for like years," says Darcy, pointing an accusing finger at him.  "Consider this payback, bitch!"

Loki sighs heavily, wondering where he went wrong and when Darcy Lewis stopped fearing his every movement and breath.

"Loki, I can barely waddle around the balcony for my daily workout.  You know I can't jump like that!  And I can't believe you thought I would really do something so dangerous!  You think I’m a terrible mother already!" Eleanor shrieks, her grip a bit too tight on his hair.

Eleanor's proved immune to logic recently, so in reply Loki merely kisses that particularly ticklish spot on her jaw that has her giggling and forgetting all about her ridiculous anger.

"Gross you two," Darcy says, giving a final jump before letting herself sit cross-legged on their bed.  He resists the urge to kick her off the edge.  "Get a room."

"We are in a room," Loki grumbles.

* * *

 

Eleanor is never alone. 

When Loki is forced to attend some meeting or another at Thor's side, Neela sits with her, or sometimes Odin or Bragi, escorted by several Einherjar who return him to his white cell when Loki returns.  Her false mother and sister make frequent use of the Bifrost to be by her side in this time of immense stress and terrible boredom.

In the ninth month of her pregnancy, Eleanor's magic abandons her and she is no longer able to entertain herself by playing all her instruments at once.  At first she panics, sending the emotion to Loki so deliberately and so powerfully over their bond that Loki jolts, fleeing the meeting with the council without so much as an explanation. 

Typically Loki himself must access the bond and go searching to determine Eleanor's feelings but so great is her distress now, that he feels it without any effort, and Loki panics himself until he gets to their rooms and fully understands the situation. 

He holds her and explains that her magic is simply beyond her reach at the moment, solely concentrating on nurturing the little life within her.  With understanding Eleanor's panic turns to sorrow and dread that only dissipates when Loki floats their bed out through the gardens.  Winter is nearly at its end now, but the cold seems to breathe new life into his wife and he curses himself for not thinking of this before.

After Eleanor loses her magic Loki stays close, sentencing himself with bed rest as well, and he leaves only when it is absolutely necessary.

As Eleanor enters what they all hope will be the final month of her pregnancy, she calms and seems to return more to herself.  For Loki, it is a shocking turnabout when compared with months of strange demands, drastic mood swings, and childish pouting. Gone is her former hysteria and while her limbs remain restless, she is at peace.  As time passes Loki's fear grows, but Eleanor becomes more centered and Loki strives to follow her example, but he still ensures that they adhere to every detail of the orders given to them by all three of Eleanor's healers.

Sigyn insists that Eleanor spend exactly fifteen minutes a day, split up in five-minute sessions, on her feet and walking.  Laura gives them cocoa butter to rub into the marks caused by the stretched skin over her massive form.  Eleanor likes the smell and Loki quite likes touching her.  As per Fey's decrees, Eleanor happily sucks on cubes of ice.

On many days it feels as though they've together been banished to the Isle of Solitude, just Loki, Eleanor, and the little life they created, alone in the universe.  It is quiet and perfect and Loki understands now that while he was masquerading as Odin and consumed with the responsibilities of ruling, he missed his wife.  Although she was there during the long days, often sitting in on meetings, the constant lying took its toll.  They awoke early and retired late, with very little time to just be. 

In many ways, the quiet weeks at the end of her pregnancy remind Loki of his first weeks in New Mexico, when they stayed in her miniscule cabin, venturing no further than the craggy rocks that formed their backyard.  Then Eleanor filled all his days, and although he was still fighting for his mind and had no understanding of his feelings for the songbird, she brought him peace as she does now.

He was unaware that they drifted apart during his rule, but now the bond between them seems to hum.  It is as if he discovers a whole new way to love her, her every word a delight and her every expression a wonder.  Even when they sit in silence, reading on the balcony despite the snow, Loki feels the hum and cannot help but watch her, cheeks rosy with the cold, round with his child, expression serene. 

Without meaning to, he telegraphs his nearly overwhelming feelings through their bond, and Eleanor meets his gaze. She smiles, taking his hand and kissing his palm.  Loki sighs and shifts until his head rests on her shoulder.  They take turns reading aloud from Eleanor's ridiculous Midgardian novel – something called Harry Potter, that completely misunderstands the true workings of magic – so that the babe might learn their voices, a suggestion given to them by Laura.

* * *

 

And yet, Loki is terrified. 

Eleanor falls asleep and the peace she somehow passes onto him in her waking hours leaves him alone and plagued by fear.  At night he stares at the ceiling and listens to Eleanor breathe, his greatest fears cycling endlessly in his mind. 

Something could so easily go wrong.  Despite the assurances of three seemingly experienced healers, Loki is consumed with dread. Although Eleanor's pregnancy is a bit odd, baby and mother are healthy, but he is convinced that this will change.  Carrying the child is one thing, but birth is another entirely and Loki could so easily lose the child he already loves before he can even know her.  He could so easily lose Eleanor.

And even if by some miracle they all survive that dreaded and coveted event, there is the matter of parenting.  How is he possibly going to manage to be a father when very recently he was insane and angry and willing to enslave Eleanor's beloved planet to get a throne he felt so entitled to?

He's sure to ruin the child.

And her mother as well.

And with these two most precious of persons ruined, Loki will be ruined also.

He tries not to wake Eleanor and it is difficult to keep from disturbing her, comfortable on her side, surrounded by pillows, but she gives off heat like a roaring fire and he very much needs to pace away the anxiety taking up residence in his chest.

There is more to it than just the very real possibility that he will fail as both a father and husband.  Loki is alive again and soon news of his continued existence will reach the Mad Titan.  Be it years or decades or centuries, the titan will come for Loki and he has so much more to lose now.

In the morning Loki's eyes are bloodshot and dry from lack of sleep.  Eleanor takes one look at him before they even get out of bed and insists that he close the curtains.  He flicks his wrist to do so and then settles with his head on her shoulder.  Already her serenity soothes him, as does the steady movement of her fingers through his hair.

"Don't be scared," she whispers.  "Everything is going to be fine.  It will be better than fine.  Wonderful, even."

"How do you know?"

"I dreamt it."

* * *

 

His wife is a warrior. 

She would roll her eyes and laugh if he was to speak these words aloud, but they remain true.  This is far from the first time he's had such a thought. 

When they were still in the bunker all those years ago and Loki pressed his scepter to her chest, attempting to claim her identity, she raised her chin and looked him directly in the eye and her strength in that moment shocked him. 

He was surprised once more on the top level of Stark Tower where she appeared all on her own accord, leaving the safety of the basement to assist with Loki's great failure. 

Although the memories are far from clear, he recalls her fighting for him countless times when his mind was lost to him, both on Midgard when SHIELD threatened to torture her to get Loki to talk, and on Asgard when she raised her objection to Loki's punishment. 

When he heard of Eleanor’s attempt to protect Frigga as she slew an elf, he was no longer surprised by her strength, but it was heartbreaking to know that she was forced to kill, that she still blames herself for the queen's death, and somehow she’s managed to bear her grief with much more grace than Loki.

Again and again since Loki took up the crown, Eleanor's proven herself a warrior.  She's fought countless battles against a hostile nobility while ensuring that the programs she cares about flourish.

But she's never been more of a warrior than she was on this day as she fought to bring their daughter into the world.

He watches them both now, mother and daughter exhausted and asleep at his side, and Loki is without words.

The labor was shockingly easy, given all the fears they shared over delivering such a unique child, although it lasted far too long.  He loathed himself as he was the cause of Eleanor's pain, but now he cannot bring himself to hate anything that allowed the small infant beside him to come into existence.  Sigyn, Fey, and Laura probably occupied themselves with tasks that had some value, but Loki was focused entirely on Eleanor, and then, after hours upon hours of struggle, their daughter also.

From the moment Eleanor, dazed and terrified, announced her unlikely pregnancy, Loki wanted it as he has not wanted before. 

He wanted Eleanor from the moment he saw her, but that want took time to evolve into something poignant and binding.  That started as lust and did not frighten him so. 

Before that, Loki wanted the throne but he sees now that this want was more complicated, a placeholder for his true desire to be respected and loved.  Once he had that, it became very clear that he did not want it. 

Not at all.

But this child he wanted from the beginning and it terrified him, continues to terrify him.  Before Eleanor's announcement even, he wanted this.  Perhaps even from the moment the Tesseract showed him the possible outcome of a blue-haired child at a piano.  He buried those images so deep as a result of his want, willing himself to forget to the point where he did not even think to confess the possibility to his wife.

And after all this time and want, here she is.

Lenara, they decided to call her. A single name from lists of hundreds that Eleanor and Jane read off constantly, one that did not make him cringe or huff or roll his eyes, but instead he thought of light and stars, nebulas and fiery, bright power.

It is a good name, one that is all her own.

Lenara is so small.  It boggles the mind, the fragility of this tiny creature that is really and truly his.  He loves her in a way that he does not even love Eleanor.

Any who consider doing her harm will find death before they can blink. He’s been secretly scheming to ensure the safety of his family since first learning of Eleanor’s pregnancy.

But these possible threats must include Loki.  He will not hurt this precious creature, not like his family (adoptive and birth) hurt him.  There will be no lies of her heritage and his love will be unconditional.  He will set no unrealistic expectations or belittle her strengths and interests.  He will do nothing to drive her away.

She is less than ten hours old and Loki cannot yet believe that she is real. 

With great caution he extends a finger, gently stroking the fuzzy blue hair atop her head.  She does not stir and he watches the rise and fall of her chest, proof that she lives, she breathes, she exists.

Although hidden behind closed eyelids, her eyes are as bright and blue as her hair, the color coming from her mother rather than Loki.  The smattering of indigo freckles spanning her nose must be indicative of her Jotunn heritage and he also might see himself in her nose and mouth, although her face is too small to tell for certain.

Now that she's arrived, he is without patience.  He wants to know immediately who she is.  Will she excel in magic as she excels in music?  Will she enjoy ice cream?  Will her anger come in destructive bursts like her father or slowly build into something utterly devastating like her mother?

Will she like him?

And beyond personality, he must know how her strange combination of genetics will present themselves. The possibilities are near limitless and Loki finds himself excited to see who and what she will be come.

But mostly he would know if she would like him.

"Loki." 

Eleanor's voice is hoarse and quiet, but it shocks him nonetheless.  He jerks slightly, tearing his gaze from his snoozing daughter to his no-longer-snoozing wife.  Her face is not far from his, their bodies facing each other and curled protectively around the little life they've somehow managed to create.  His wife yawns widely and Loki smiles at her with great affection.

"Hey," she whispers, running her finger over the blue fuzz sprouting from the top of their child's head.

Lenara’s head.

"Hello," Loki replies.  "My sweet songbird.  My warrior wife."

As anticipated, Eleanor chuckles and rolls her eyes.  The sound is dry and pathetic and enough to inspire Loki to climb out of bed – he does not like being away from his family, so fresh and vulnerable as they are – to the cart by the door.  He pours Eleanor a glass of water and delivers it as quickly as possible.

She winces slightly as she sits up, lingering discomfort from the massive feat she performed less than ten hours previous.  The whole glass is guzzled. 

"Thanks," she says, handing him the glass.

"Do you require more?"

"No.  Come back.  We were having a nice little moment, don't you think?"

He conveys his hearty agreement by quickly retaking his former position next to Eleanor, with the little life they've managed to create between them.

"Hey there, Daddy," Eleanor says, smiling.  She leans forward to kiss the corner of his mouth before settling back down on her pillows.

Loki frowns.  "You do not think she will call me that, do you?"

Eleanor shrugs. "Maybe.  I want her to know Midgard too.  Like, we are going to have to live there for a little while or a couple months at a time or something. Who knows what she'll pick up while we are there?”

This is the first Loki’s hearing of staying on Midgard, but he doesn’t have it in him to roll his eyes or argue or even really care that Eleanor will be dragging them back to the dreary realm where she was raised. He is reasonably certain that she could ask him for anything in this moment and he would give it without hesitation.

Just look at all she’s given him.

“You can be Father,” Eleanor continues, smiling down at their sleeping daughter. “And I’ll be Mom and she’s Lenara.”

“Yes,” Loki whispers, unable to contain his smile.

“But I’m totally calling her Lenny.”

And, just as he predicted, Loki offers no argument to this absurd nickname.

* * *

 

Lenara, wrinkling, pink little skin sack that she is, does not believe in sleep, it would seem.  Also, she appears to thoroughly enjoy the sound of her own shrieking. 

Although she's been alive for only twenty-seven days, her voice is big and grating and she only seems to not use it when Loki is required to be awake for one ruling duty or another.  As Loki is refusing to leave Eleanor alone until they settle into something of a routine with their daughter, this involves Thor coming to him in their rooms, Jane in tow.  They coo over their niece like she is the most precious thing in the whole of the universe – which she is, of course, second perhaps only to one full night of uninterrupted sleep.  And Lenara blinks up at them, angelic and adorable, as if she did not spend all hours of the night crying for no discernable reason.  Thor then attempts to discuss matters of state with Loki as he struggles to keep his eyes open and his mind on anything besides a desire to lean back in his seat, close his eyes, and never move again.

At first, Loki was convinced that there was something wrong with her, that her crying and the refusal to sleep through the night (or even much of the day) was indicative of some terrifying internal malformation or disease, but three separate healers and many thorough examinations say otherwise.

“She’ll figure out that sleep is awesome when she figures it out,” says Laura just before she departs for Midgard. “Relax.”

Loki is unable to relax, but is too tired to truly notice.

Eleanor is perhaps no more of a mess than Loki, but she is worse at hiding it.

While Loki still manages to keep his hair and clothes neat despite his exhaustion and all the spitup, Eleanor has given up all attempts at personal hygiene.  Her hair is huge and tangled.  She smells of soured milk.  Only half of what she says makes any sort of sense. 

Jane and Thor always exchange looks as they leave, and Thor in particular does not understand Loki’s refusal to allow a servant anywhere near their daughter to assist, but Loki is too exhausted to care or even assure them that there is no need to worry.

One morning they sit on the balcony after another night of no sleep.  They face each other, Lenara in a bassinet between them, content now and her little legs twitching beneath her blanket.  It seems so strange to love the thing responsible for his misery so fiercely.  He should resent her, or plot her demise, or use magic to keep her silent, but he finds he is rather enjoying simply looking at her, despite how difficult it is to think with his mind so fogged.

Eleanor is in a similar state. She stares blankly at their daughter.  In her hand is a mug of tea, but she seems to have forgotten the beverage and the cup is tipping down with each passing moment.  It is sure to spill eventually.  Hopefully Loki will have the energy to mention it before that occurs.

"Whoa, you weren't lying.  This is horrifying."

Eleanor jumps at the sound of a new voice, dropping the mug.  It shatters on the balcony.  Loki simply stares at the woman standing under an archway, arms crossed over her chest, shaking her head. 

"Darcy?" Eleanor manages and Loki understands her confusion.  Although they had many visitors while Eleanor was on bed rest and when Lenara was born, after the first few days their many friends found it time to get back to their lives and to presumably allow Loki and Eleanor to bask in the joy of their new family.

"What are you doing here?" Loki asks.  Perhaps yesterday he would have been embarrassed to be caught in such a state, as he has not yet even touched his hair, but this morning he is far beyond the point of caring.

"I brought her here."  Jane is apparently here too, standing next to Darcy.  "She's going to babysit."

“What?" asks Eleanor, voice utterly devoid of feeling.

"No," says Loki.  "Absolutely not."

"Dude, I have four younger siblings.  I am awesome with babies."  Without waiting for permission, Darcy crosses the balcony and leans over Loki's daughter, cooing at the infant and rubbing her belly.

"No," says Loki again.

"Loki, you guys need a break," Jane says.  "You look like zombies and it smells weird in here.  Frankly, it's disturbing."

"We're fine," Loki insists.

"Are not," says Darcy.

"Are so," says Loki.

"Are not!"

"Look, it's just for the day.  Darcy isn't going to take her out of the family section of the palace.  It's just for a few hours," says Jane.

"And what do you propose we do all day?" Loki snaps.

"Sleep?" says Eleanor, sounding like she's on the verge of tears.

And that really makes the decision for Loki.

He stands to loom over Darcy, giving her his most menacing glower. Despite all the years they known each other and all the times Loki refrained from actually harming this girl, she still cowers and it brings him immense satisfaction. 

"You will guard her with your life, Darcy Lewis,” he murmurs.  “Any ill that befalls her, even the smallest of hurts, I will release on you a thousand fold.  Do you understand?"

"Yes, dude.  Jeeze."  Darcy rolls her eyes but her cheeks have paled slightly, so he knows he's succeeded in reminding her that Loki is dangerous. 

"You will not take her from the royal suite and this includes the gardens.  You will inform us immediately if the smallest of things is to go wrong."

"Got it."

* * *

 

Darcy and Jane take Lenara down to the gardens, fully equipped with everything the infant could possibly need and Loki turns to his wife, unsure what to do now that they are alone without an infant to care for.

"Sleep?" Eleanor asks, perking up a bit.

"Bath first," Loki decides, grimacing at her greasy, matted locks.

Eleanor lifts her arm, smells her pit, and wrinkles her brow. Loki grimaces some more.

"Okay, bath first," she agrees.

* * *

 

"Oh my god."  Eleanor groans as she leans back into his chest, water lapping around them.  He works shampoo through her hair and around them the steam is hot and scented with oils that make the water feel soft.  "I almost feel like a person again."

Loki chuckles.  He is satisfied that he's managed to work out all the knots – and there were many knots – in her hair.  She is in dire need of a cut.

"Rinse," Loki instructs.

She does so and there is nothing left to do hygiene-wise but soak and enjoy.  Loki too feels more like a person again.

"This is, like, really hard," Eleanor says.

"Indeed."

"And I thought I had a pretty good idea what it was going to be like, between the books and talking to people who've done the parenting thing before, but damn.  It's _hard_."

"Indeed."

"But I also love that little sleep-hating wiggler more than I ever thought possible," Eleanor murmurs.  She seems to be melting back into his chest, obviously on the verge of sleep, and Loki wraps his arms around her.

"I, as well, was ill-prepared for all this," Loki says.  "But I do not recall ever being happier."

Eleanor hums and Loki's own eyelids droop. 

It seems like a good time to give Eleanor the sleep she is so in need of, and she offers no resistance as he pulls her from the tub and wraps her in a towel.

* * *

 

They fall into bed without even bothering to fully dry or dress.  Eleanor is already breathing heavily into a pillow as Loki pulls the blankets up to cover her bare back.

"We haven't had sex in months," Eleanor mutters and he settles by her side.

Loki grimaces.  It seems far too soon since she expelled their daughter from her body and he is so exhausted he is on the verge of hallucinating, but if Eleanor insists he will find the energy.

He supposes.

"Yes," he agrees, sounding wary without meaning too.

"I hate it."

"As do I."

"But I need sleep more."

"Really, Eleanor.  Should I be offended?"

She falls asleep in the middle of her laugh and Loki quickly does the same.

* * *

 

"Wake up, sleepyheads."

Loki grunts, aware that he just rested undisturbed for several hours but still greedy for more.  He is flat on his back, face angled towards Eleanor.  Her hand rests on his bicep.

"Come on, guys," says the same heinous voice that dare disturb his slumber.  "Someone is fussy and hungry.  Poor kid is salivating over my huge tatas, only to be disappointed."

Loki lifts his head to scowl at Darcy Lewis where she stands in the doorway, light flooding in behind her. At his side, Eleanor laughs and removes her hand from his arm to scrub her palms over her face.

"Give me a minute," Eleanor says, sounding like herself for the first time in days.  "I've got to pull on some clothes."

"Really?" asks Darcy, Lenara wriggling in her arms, letting out the occasional hungry whimper.  "I'm really babysitting so you guys can bang?"

"Ha, I wish," says Eleanor.  "More like too tired to even get dressed."

"Welcome to parenthood!" says Darcy before leaving once more.

Eleanor sighs and rolls out of bed.  She picks up a dress, smells it, and then drops the garment to the floor once more.  She repeats this process three times before she finds a suitably clean tunic (his suitably clean tunic).

"You sleep a bit more, okay?" she whispers, leaning over him and kissing his forehead.

"If you insist."

"Oh, I do."

* * *

 

Without Eleanor and Lenara, Loki cannot seem to sleep.  He tries valiantly for as long as he can bear it after Darcy calls Eleanor away, but he ultimately fails.

The secret plans he has been cautiously working on since he found out his wife was pregnant have been neglected too long, and although there is nothing he can reasonably expect to get done in this area while their lives remain so chaotic. Without his family to calm him, Loki feels panic expanding in his lungs.

After a few more minutes of deep breathing, Loki finally gives up on sleep.  It takes him less time to find clean clothes and when he enters the main room Eleanor is squeezed into the corner of the couch, smiling adoringly down at their daughter, happily consuming her midday meal. 

Darcy Lewis wanders around, picking up the clutter that never seemed to exist before Lenara.  Some servant or another attempts to keep these rooms clean, but Loki is not comfortable with strangers so close to his progeny, and he has a bad habit of snarling at them until Eleanor takes pity them, giving them permission to flee before anything gets fully clean.  The bedroom is even worse and now that he's had a few hours consecutive sleep, he's a bit embarrassed to have a mortal see their rooms in such disarray.

Semi-rested that he is, perhaps he could spare some magic on this task.

Instead of worrying further, Loki joins his family, wrapping an arm around Eleanor's shoulders and kissing her temple. He too smiles adoringly down at Lenara on her mother’s breast.

"You two look better already," says Darcy.  "I take full credit."

After lunch and more conversation with Darcy than Loki finds wholly necessary, Lenara falls asleep in his arms and Miss Lewis insists that they take another nap.  He begrudgingly (and gently) places his daughter in her bassinette and does as the mortal says.

This time Loki dozes while wrapped around his wife and he does not worry about the possibility of losing his family.

* * *

 

Hours later Eleanor shakes Loki awake, and they once more venture into the sitting room only to find it dark and abandoned.  Loki is prepared to tear worlds apart to find his daughter until Eleanor points out a scribbled note on a table.

_Went to Odin's.  Come eat and be social!_

Sighing heavily, Loki resigns himself to an evening of being social.

* * *

 

“I’ll be taking that, thank you,” says Loki, deftly removing Lenara from Odin’s arms to cradle her to his chest. Loki swears the corner of her mouth twitches up into a slight smile despite everyone telling him she is far too young for smiles, and he chuckles when spit bubbles form between her lips.

“But, Blue—”

“I haven’t seen my daughter all day,” Loki says.

“Not true. You guys only slept for a total of like five hours,” Darcy says.

“It felt like all day,” says Eleanor. She kisses Odin’s cheek and then comes to press into Loki’s side, running her hand over Lenara’s fuzzy blue hair.

The entirety of the royal family and Darcy Lewis are seated around the table, large spread of food sitting untouched upon its surface. Apparently, they waited for Loki and Eleanor to eat. It is the first time he has seen Thor, Jane, and Odin at once since the first few weeks after Lenara was born and he finds himself not totally dreading this upcoming meal.

“Aw, you two are adorable,” says Jane, annoying Loki enough to make him reconsider not dreading this upcoming meal. “Make that three, actually.”

“I insist on having another turn holding Granddaughter Blue before this evening is over,” says Odin, doing his best to sound stern but truly just whining.

“Not if you keep calling her that, you won’t,” snaps Loki.

“Lenara,” says Odin with a sigh. “Lenara. Lenny. Len. Len.”

“Come, Brother,” says Thor before Loki can reply to the spread of Eleanor’s ridiculous nickname. “Sit. Eat. See, there are ways to get out of those rooms, even with a newborn babe.”

Loki nearly growls at his brother, but Eleanor is dragging him over to the two empty seats at the table. She fixes him a plate as he listens to Jane ask Eleanor some detail or another on some aspect or another of being queen and then eats with one hand, holding his daughter firmly with the other to his chest.

The evening is not wholly unpleasant. There is laughter, and for the first time in twenty-nine days, Loki remembers that there is a world outside that of their new daughter and the terrifying possibility of what might come for her.

Asgard and the realms continue on as they always have, but to Loki the universe is forever changed.

Remarkably, after an evening being passed from grandfather to aunt to uncle to mortal babysitter, Lenara sleeps through half the night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well there you have it. And baby makes three!
> 
> Big thanks to everyone who continues to read this sucker and leave me such lovely feed back.
> 
> And to my wonderful betas!  
> First beta: Heather  
> Final beta: Erica


	24. Vali

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! Sorry it's been so long. Blame the CT and an overwheming need to plan out my whole NaNo novel and having to, you know, actually participate in my real life.
> 
> This is one of those chapters that I just really like, you know?
> 
> I hope you like it too.
> 
> So this is the last storyline for this series (out of about a thousand storylines). That means were are only looking at like maybe threeish more chapters? I don't know but I am already graving the end of it. BUT! I have some AUs planned because I'm not done writing Loki and after this whole saga I don't think I am capable of coming up with a new OC.
> 
> Heather and Erica are the best of all betas.
> 
> You are the best of all readers.
> 
> Come be by friend! jaxington.tumblr.com

"Peekaboo!" Eleanor uncovers her face, getting nose to nose with her daughter, who is laid out in her lap.  Lenara lets out a delighted chortle, little hands grabbing at Eleanor's hair.  They've been at this for a solid ten minutes now, but Len is no less entertained now than she was at the beginning of the game.  "Where's Mommy?" Eleanor asks, covering her face again.

Lenara babbles incomprehensibly and claps her hands together, tiny fingernails ineffectually scratching at the back of Eleanor’s hands.

"Ellie, what's the deal with Zara?  She is totally up my ass about learning how to sew, of all things?" Across the table, speaking from behind a towering stack of books, is Jane, presumably absorbed in studying something scientific, but apparently she's thinking about her duties too.

"Yeah," Eleanor replies, still hiding from her daughter, whose babbled demands for peekaboo grow louder each moment Eleanor doesn't appear.  "We need to get on that.  You can learn a lot from the sewing room.  Peekaboo!"

Lenara squeals, claps, and tugs on Eleanor's hair.

"You are going to make me learn to sew?" Jane asks.  She pushes aside a stack of books to better gape at Eleanor, clearly horrified.

"It's not really about the sewing," Eleanor says, removing her daughter's tiny, shockingly strong fists from her hair.  "It's about picking up gossip, learning secrets.  That's where the might of Asgard is, the damn sewing room.  I should’ve had you in there months ago, but I wanted to go with you, but I couldn't really do that with all the bed resting."

"You are really going to make me learn to sew," Jane murmurs again, eyes wide and unfocused.

"Yes, Jane.  I know it's the biggest challenge in your life."

"I would rather fix the Bifrost again."

"Shocking." 

“Which, actually, is something I wanted to talk to Loki about.”

“Fixing the Bifrost again?” Eleanor asks, blinking up at Jane. “How can you fix it if it’s not broken?”

“No, he is thinking about changing it. You know how the bridges only go to specific places? Like New Mexico and London? Well, Loki mentioned figuring out a way to allow Heimdall to pick up whoever, from wherever, no specific touchdown zone required.”

“Huh,” says Eleanor, frowning because this, like so many other things, is something her husband has so far failed to mention.

“But this was months ago and I didn’t think about it again until yesterday when I was doing some reading and uncovered something that might be helpful.”

In her lap Lenara is kicking out her legs and whining, never quite satisfied when she is not the center of attention.  Eleanor leans forward to rain kisses down on her forehead, cheeks, soft blue hair, and Lenara once more shrieks with delight.

"Must you be so loud?" Jane asks, sighing heavily.

"Must you do your science in my living room?" Eleanor replies.

"Fair point.  You have a private library, Odin has a private library, but Thor has a completely unnecessary armory in his rooms," Jane replies.  "And when I work in the palace library I feel like I get stared at, and the aides keep offering me help I do not need."

"You've been Queen for like a year," Eleanor says.  "You've been living here for like a year.  Don't you think it's time that you start making Thor's rooms yours too?"

Jane slumps down in her chair, muttering to herself and reaching for the nearest book.  Eleanor goes back to Peekaboo.

The game only lasts a few minutes more, ending when the door bursts open and Loki walks through with Sif at his side.  They are arguing about the scheduled upgrades to the training yard, but fall silent when Lenara starts shrieking, little arms reaching out towards her father. 

"This is not over, Loki!" Sif says as Loki leaves her by the doors. 

He waves her off, completely focused on Eleanor and their daughter wiggling in her lap.

"Hello," says Loki, smiling softly as he leans down to kiss her in greeting.  His palm rests on Lenara's belly and she stops fussing, content to gnaw on her father's thumb.

"Hey," Eleanor murmurs, reaching up to trace his cheek when he frees her lips.  They have a routine now that involves Loki leaving in the mornings to rule with Thor and returning for lunch. On occasion Eleanor leaves Len with her father for the afternoon, but more often than not she finds herself either neglecting her duties or bringing her daughter along. This is apparently a giant faux pas, as Asgardians traditionally don’t let their children venture out of the house for the first year of life, but technically the whole fucking palace is Lenara’s home so Eleanor brings the little squirt to luncheons with the ladies and counsel meetings. The baby is so painfully cute that she wins over even the most cantankerous and conservative of Asgard’s elite. “Good morning?” she asks.

“Fine. Although I missed my wife,” Loki replies, lifting Lenara from Eleanor’s lap. “And daughter!” He completely transforms as he brings their daughter to his chest, face, voice, and posture all shift into expressions of joy.

It’s a heady thing, watching Loki with their daughter, that Eleanor doesn’t ever think she’ll take for granted.

“Come now, Princess,” Sif says, snapping her fingers. “You promised me your assistance.”

As Loki joins her on the sofa, cooing at Len, Eleanor turns to hide her face in his shoulder, hoping that if Sif is ignored she will simply go away.

“To the markets, Eleanor.” Sif is rapidly losing patience. “As you promised.”

“Can I bring Lenny?”

“Must you call her that?” mutters Loki.

“She cannot leave the palace as you well know! Now up, Princess. No need to prolong the inevitable,” Sif insists.

Although she’s left her baby with various family members and Darcy for a couple hours, she’s always been only a few rooms away from Len, and leaving the little wiggler now to venture all the way to the market is vastly unappealing.

But without her help Sif will probably end up making Sigyn cry with some horrible birthday present or another.

“One fucking hour, Sif,” Eleanor says, reluctantly getting to her feet. “I mean it.”

* * *

"You glow, Princess," says the old crone as she folds fabric for Eleanor.  It is gold with red thread and perfect for Jane to learn with.  The prospect of introducing the Queen of Asgard to the subtle politics of the sewing room – all of which is sure to be totally lost on the scientist – is not a pleasant one, but it needs to be done.  Eleanor wonders if Frigga felt like this, hesitant, wary, and slightly amused at the prospect of seeing her student so far out of her element. "Motherhood suits you."

"Thank you, Jezebel."

"And where is this child?  I cannot give you the proper fabric before I know her, before I've seen her."

"She's with her father.  This is actually my first time this far away from her."  And she's not freaking out.  Not at all.

She searches within her chest, locating the bond and leaning into it.  There is a low hum of anxiety buzzing in her husband, but that has been his constant state of being since Len's birth.  All seems quiet on the home front – Eleanor can see the golden palace rising up just behind the market – but this does little to ease Eleanor's own anxiety.

"Yes, yes.  She is your first, is she not?"

"She is," Eleanor says, nodding.

"Calm, Princess.  Calm.  Any who dared threaten the babe would be too much the fool to do any harm.  Not with such powerful beings giving her love and protection.  I must look forward to her introduction to the public.  When is the ceremony?"

"I think it's customary to wait a year, right?  So like, four or five months?"

"She's lived for so many lunar cycles?  Already?  These days pass too quickly for an ancient such as myself."

"Nonsense, Jezebel.  You look fabulous. How much do I owe you?"

"I gift.  A gift for the new queen."

Eleanor nods her thanks and slips the old seamstress a chocolate filled with peanut butter.  Before Eleanor requested the cooks improve their dessert repertoire, the treat was totally missing from the Realm Eternal.

And the Aesir think themselves more evolved than mortals, despite their former lack of chocolate. 

People voice their congratulations and touch the back of her hands, and Eleanor beams, hoping their good wishes are genuine and will stay genuine even after they get a glimpse of her daughter's blue hair.

It takes her a few minutes to find Sif, predictably swinging around an axe at a weapons vendor.

"I thought we were looking to get Sigyn a gift," Eleanor says, smirking.  Sif looks guilty to be caught.

"I was," she says, recovering quickly.  "Do you think she'd enjoy this axe?"

"Could she even lift that axe?"

Sif forces the huge weapon into Eleanor's arms and she nearly is dragged down as she struggles to keep from dropping the axe.

She then drops the axe and the proprietor of the weapons tent glares at her, muttering in some language she doesn't understand.

Sif rolls her eyes.  "It's a weapon," she says, easily lifting it with one hand.  She tosses it in the air and catches it easily.  "It is not meant to be draped in silks and unused."

The cranky proprietor nods begrudgingly and Sif returns it to a shelf.

"Not right for my lady, I am thinking," Sif declares as if she was ever seriously considering it.

They wander through the market and Sif finds Sigyn some dense, ancient medical tome detailing the regenerative properties of Vanir flora. 

“You did totally fine on your own!” Eleanor says, glancing at the palace and resisting the urge to braid her hair. “Didn’t need my help at all.”

“Let us get a drink.”

“No. No way.”

"Just one drink," Sif says as they reach the end of the market and the cafe that sits on the cliff side there.  Thor first brought her here during her first week on the Realm Eternal to whine about how badly he screwed up with Jane.  Now they are married and attempting to figure out the whole ruling thing.

What a fucking saga.

"We really should get back."

"We've been away less than an hour!  Do you plan to leave Lenara's side for only one hour at a time?  She will loathe you before she reaches her first century."

"She's a newborn."

“Do you truly bring her with you?  On all your duties?  Or have you been neglecting them all as you've done with your training?" Sif demands.

Eleanor shuffles her feet.  "Well, maybe a little bit.  Jane probably could use a bit more help with the whole queen gig."

"So a drink?"

"Still no."

"Eleanor."

"Sif."

Their battle of the wills that Eleanor was sure to win is interrupted by a piercing scream.  Sif's hand goes to the blade at her hip, following close behind Eleanor as she works her way through the crowd gathered at the cliff's edge.  They whisper and somewhere a woman screams again as they crane their necks to see the cliff's face below them.

"What happened?" Sif barks at the sobbing woman who screamed. 

"There is a body!" she says, pointing a shaking finger in the direction of the cliff.

Eleanor leans over the edge, getting a good look at the broken figure below, impaled on the rocks.  Birds already pick at her skin, making Eleanor think she's been there long, and something about the body is familiar.

Sif asks questions as Einherjar join them.  Eleanor is thankful that the warrior is taking the lead on this as she feels suddenly queasy.

Something is tugging at the skirts of her dress, and she blinks down.  It takes her longer than it should to recognize the small child clinging to her leg.  Although he is fifteen years old, to Eleanor he appears to be around two or three Midgardian years.  He has the dark hair of his mother and the blue eyes of his father, eyes that Eleanor saw utterly devoid of life as she lay on top of his corpse.

Clinging to her leg is Ido's son and with complete horror Eleanor understands why the dead woman below is so familiar.

* * *

"Hey."  She finds Loki with their daughter asleep on his chest in Frigga's library.  The sight makes breathing easier.  Behind her, Ido's tiny, orphaned son hides in her skirts.

Loki turns to look at her in the entryway, careful not to jostle their daughter.  Len stirs anyway, her little arm stretching out and her little fingers curling into her father's tunic.

Eleanor wonders if this parenting gig is something she'll ever get used to.

"Took you long enough," Loki says, scowling.

"Blue!" Odin whines from across the room.  He sits cross-legged in a chair, sketchpad in his lap, charcoal clutched between his blanked fingers. 

"I do not respond to that!" Loki hisses back.  "It is a color, not my name."

Odin opens and closes his mouth three times, struggling for the word.  "Loki," he finally manages, releasing a great puff of breath.  "You moved.  Don't you move.  I want to get it right."

Loki sighs and turns to face forward.  "What kept you, Eleanor?"

"Meryn is dead," she says, sounding hollow.  Too late she remembers the child hiding behind her and she resolves to choose her words carefully. 

“Who?" asks Loki.

"Ido's wife."

"Ido had a wife?"

"Yes!  I visit her a couple times a year.  Give her money."

"The crown provides gold for those family that lost the primary provider."

"I know.  But this was Ido.  You know I go there, Loki.  Why are you such a—" Eleanor takes a deep breath. There is a very small child at her back and Odin, who is also pretty much a child, is frowning at her, already upset by the bickering.  "You know I go there, Loki."

"Went there.  The woman is dead, is she not?  There is no reason for you to go there any longer."

Eleanor winces and turns to kneel in front of Ido's son.  He knows her from her few visits and refused to go with anyone else in the chaos that followed the discovery of his mother's body, torn apart by a fall over the cliffs.

"Hey, buddy," she says, tucking his dark hair behind his ear.  Compared to Lenara he seems huge, but he is still so young.  Walking is new to him, and so far she hasn't heard him speak at all. Eleanor has no clue how to explain death to a toddler.  "Come here."

When she extends her arms he shuffles willingly into her embrace, wrapping his tiny arms around her neck.

"Loki," she says, turning back to her husband.  The blankness of his expression is not a good sign.

"What is that?" he says as if he is confronted with something repulsive rather than a newly orphaned child.

"This is Ido and Meryn's son," she says.  "Vali.  Vali, this is Loki.  Can you say hi?"

The kid hides his face in her neck, holding her with all his meager toddler-strength.

"Eleanor," he says using that tone of his that speaks to his mounting rage and his desire to go around slaughtering everything, Eleanor included.

"It's just a few days!" she says before he can get really worked up.  For a few tense moments Loki and Eleanor glare at each other. 

Odin whines.  "No fighting," he says.  "Do not fight."

"Odin, would you mind taking Vali up to your studio?  Let him look at some of your paintings?  The nice nature ones, not the scary war ones."

The Allfather nods and rises as Eleanor sets Vali on his feet, assuring him that Odin is nice.  By the time they bop off, hand in hand, Lenara is up and fussing.  Without a word, Eleanor joins her little family on the sofa.  Loki hands over the baby before undoing the ties of her dress so she can get a boob out for Lenara's lunch.

Eleanor grins down at her hungry, nursing daughter as Loki sighs heavily, flopping back against the couch.

"What are you doing, Eleanor?"

"She was drunk," Eleanor replies.  "Meryn.  She was drunk and the best guess at the moment is that she was drunk and slipped and no one noticed.  Who knows how long Vali was just wandering around the market.  I didn't think a fall could kill an Asgardian.  Maybe it wouldn't have, if anyone had noticed."

"Eleanor."  Again, he makes her name a warning.

"Unless she jumped. She landed head first." How could Eleanor fail so miserably to notice the extent of the widow’s pain?

"Eleanor."

"It's only for a few days while Sif and the Einherjar can track down a family member or someone to take him. I didn't want to send him to the orphanage, not if we don't have to.  It's just a few days, Loki."

"What is in your head, wife?"

Eleanor goes silent, trying very hard to answer that question. She thinks of Ido, her endearing shadow, Meryn with her vitriol and resentment, and Vali’s trembling limbs when she first found him.

And how the word _adoption_ still makes her queasy.

“I really don’t know,” she confesses sometime later.

* * *

"I do not like this creature so close to our daughter," Loki mutters as he hands over a goblet of juice.  Because he is without sustenance-providing breasts, Loki sips wine, and Eleanor tries not to be jealous as he settles beside her, slinging an arm across her shoulders as she leans back into his chest.

"It's been three days," she says.  "You know his name."

Loki grunts and drinks his wine.

They watch the children in silence for a few minutes.  Lenara is laid out on her back on a fur with an array of toys – shapes, animals, colors – magically suspended above her.  Her little feet kick out and she lets out a giggle whenever Vali reaches out to make a shape spin.

"He's good with her."

"Eleanor."

She sighs and rests her head on his shoulder.

"Have you managed to locate a relative to take him?"

"No," Eleanor says, watching Ido's son make their daughter shriek with delight.   In three days the toddler hadn't said a word or made a sound – not even when he skinned his knees running through the gardens – and his silence breaks her heart.  "There is no one."

Loki sighs again.  There has been an excess of sighing from Loki in the last three days.

"What would you have us do here?  What do you want?" he asks.  For the first time in three days he directly addresses what Eleanor hasn't even really let herself consider until Sif determined that there was no one.

Adoption has always been such an ugly word, to her and her husband both.

"I don't know.  I really don't. But I would like to know what you think."

Loki shakes his head at head and finishes his wine.  "I think that we are new parents of an infant child who were horribly scarred by our own adoptions, something we could very well pass onto this creature.  I think even considering what you are considering is the basest of sentiment.  I think it is folly."

Eleanor winces, nods, and settles back against his chest. "Okay."

"Really?” He scoffs.  “You simply give me _okay_?  I anticipated having to sit through your illogical and unconvincing argument."

"Vali deserves people who are sure," she murmurs, watching him lay on his back beside Lenara.  Every time she laughs, he beams. "I'm not sure and you are a firm no.  The orphanage is a good place."

"Maybe now that you've gotten your hands on it."

Children without parents or some other relative to take them are a rarity on Asgard, but after the Dark Elves decimated huge swaths of the city, the population of parentless, family-less children exploded.  It took months and more gold than Loki liked, but the capital's orphanage is a beautiful building with every amenity.  Teachers, classes, counselors, and healers are all readily available.  It is a safe, secure place, the best a kid could hope for.

Well, next to a family that is.

"Will you come with me tomorrow?  To bring him there?"

"Lenara is not in the public as of yet.  You think we should both leave her?  Place her under the care of Thor?" 

Loki looks at her like she is a bad mother.  In turn she looks at him like he's a bad brother.

* * *

 

“You better than any know that these facilities are of the highest quality," says the mistress of the orphanage.  In the five minutes since their arrival, Eleanor's managed to offend her thoroughly.  True, she didn't need to question policies she herself helped implement, but this is Ido's son, sweet little Vali who makes her daughter laugh and hasn't cried once since his mother died.

Although they explained to him best they could that his mother will not be coming back and he will be living in a nice new home with lots of new friends, Eleanor has no idea how much he actually understands about the situation and her stomach hurts at the thought of leaving him here.

"I know.  I'm sorry."

"Do you only find the quality of care here adequate for children from less well connected families?" asks the mistress, scowling down her nose at Eleanor and reeking of disapproval.

"No!  It's not that at all.  I just knew his father.  He was my personal guard before the Dark Elves and after he died I made sure that Vali and his mother were taken care of.  This is guilt, Mistress, not a critique on the facility here.  I'm nervous," Eleanor confesses.

The mistress sighs and they both turn to look at Vali where he is silently playing with building blocks while Loki looms over him, arms crossed over his chest as he surveys the playroom.  If his goal is to look terrifying then he's doing a bang up job.

"I understand your plight, Princess," says the mistress as Eleanor tears her gaze away from Vali.  "I do not have to tell you of our amenities and what we do for these children.  This conflict with you has little to do with us, I am thinking."

Eleanor nods.  "I really am sorry."

"You will visit, Princess. If you desire to spend the day with him outside the orphanage, you will do this also.  We will grant you every privilege."

"That's—"

"You droopy-eyed cretin!" shouts Loki. “Vile tyrant, back away!”

Eleanor whirls around, ready to rip her husband a new one   Although he's kept his distance from Vali, she thought he knew enough not to yell like that at a scared little boy who just lost his mother.

She blinks for a moment, trying to understand the scene before her.  It becomes clear very quickly that Loki is not yelling at Vali, for the small boy is held protectively against his chest, bottom lip trembling.  Loki is scowling down at a blond, barrel chested kid who is obviously seeing his short life flash before his eyes.  Loki was pretty terrifying just standing there, so having his full and angry attention is too much for the kid, who promptly bursts into tears.

"Prince Loki!" snaps the mistress, putting herself between Loki and the boy.  "What is the meaning of this?"

"You have a bully on your hands," Loki says, straightening to his full and menacing height.  He spares the mistress of the orphanage only a glance before turning to address Eleanor.  "He stole Vali's blocks and pushed him over.  This is unacceptable.  We will not be staying.  Eleanor?"

And then he sweeps out of the room, Vali still cradled to his chest.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 Eleanor stares at the door Loki just fled through.

"Princess?" asks the mistress.

"I, um... I guess Vali's coming with us."

* * *

 

"The attack was totally unprovoked," Loki hisses when they get into their rooms.  He is talking quietly as to not wake Vali, who fell asleep against Loki's chest on the journey back to the palace.

Jane is sitting on the couch and discards her book to gape at Loki.  The expression on his face keeps her quiet.

"The child was a menace."

"Uh-huh," Eleanor replies, trying not to grin too hard.

"Do not look so pleased.  The whole place was unsuitable."

"Right."

Loki glares at her before glaring at Jane.  "My daughter?"

"Asleep in the nursery," replies Jane, waving vaguely at the cracked open door.

Loki stomps off to place Vali in Lenara’s room where he's spent the last few days.

"What the hell?" whispers Jane.

Eleanor shrugs.

"I thought you were taking him to the orphanage!"

"Didn't work out.  Can you, like, leave?  Thanks for watching her, but I think we need some time to discuss this.  Alone."

"But—"

"I promise to fill you in later, okay?"

"Fine!” hisses the queen.  “Your daughter is a delight."  She slams her book closed and stalks out of the room.

Eleanor takes a moment to braid her hair and then unbraid her hair before entering the nursery.

Loki stands over their daughter in her crib, just watching.  Eleanor joins him for a few minutes

"He will stay here.  With us."

"Are you sure?" she asks, resting her cheek on his shoulder and gazing up at him.

"Yes," Loki murmurs after only a moment of hesitation.  "Are you sure?"

"Yes."  The word barely makes it past her sudden tears, but she doesn't hesitate at all.

They watch their daughter for a few moments more, the steady rise and fall of her chest. 

Lenara feels ‘once in a lifetime.’  She's their little miracle baby that somehow came to them after nearly a decade of unprotected sex, for no real reason that they’ve managed to figure out.  Eleanor doesn't think it will ever happen for them again, conceiving a child.  In fact, she is sure that she will never give birth again. 

Maybe she dreamed it, or maybe it’s just gut instinct, but Eleanor trusts the feeling.

She wants Lenara to have a sibling, the way she has Laura and the way Loki has Thor.  As flawed as those relationships are in some ways, they are vastly important as well and she wants that for her daughter.  The timing may be terrible, as they have no idea what they are doing when it comes to parenting, but Ido's son needs them now and the universe rarely pays attention to good timing.

Plus Vali is an absolute doll, inquisitive and quiet. He gets a little freer with his smiles daily. His father died protecting Eleanor and his mother drowned in grief without Eleanor noticing.

Eventually, Eleanor drags Loki from the nursery, sits him on the couch, and delivers him wine.

"Okay," she says, sitting on the coffee table directly across from Loki so he has no choice but to look at her.  "How's this going to work?"

"If you give a portion of your music room and I give a portion of my library and we take a bit of space from the balcony, than I should be able to give him his own room.  Bit farther away from us then Lenara, but he's older and does not seem to have a problem sleeping through the night," Loki says as if it is all rather obvious.

The only thing that is rather obvious is that Loki's been really thinking about this for days.

Feeling overcome with a fresh wave of love for her husband, Eleanor takes his face in her hands and kisses him.  He sighs against her mouth and rests his hands on her thighs.

"You are wonderful," she murmurs.  "So when you say he'll stay with us, you really mean with us.  Not just in the palace."

"Would you be comfortable with him anywhere else?  I suppose someone can be hired as his caregiver."

Eleanor frowns.

"That's what I thought," Loki says, smirking slightly as he sips his wine and leans back against the couch.  Every few moments he glances at the nursery, thinking of Lenara and her safety and maybe Vali's too.

"But we still have to decide how we are going to do this."

"What do you mean, Eleanor?"

"Okay."  She crosses her legs beneath her and tucks her hair behind her ears.  "The way I see it, we have two options."

"Two?  Is that all?" 

"He can be our, like, ward.  You know, he'll live here and we'll provide everything for him, but he'll call us Loki and Eleanor and a lot of other people, servants and stuff, will teach him and guide him and help us parent him."

"And the second?"

"We raise him for real.  As our son.  We don't see him or treat him any differently than we do Lenara.  He calls us Mom and Dad—"

"Mother and Father," Loki corrects,

Eleanor rolls her eyes and carries on.  "We tell him about his birth parents, explain adoption from starting the moment he can understand what it means, and we love him without conditions. We tell him that we chose him, want him. That he belongs with us."

"You've given this a great deal of thought," Loki says, studying his wine.

"So have you, Mr. Give Up a Chunk of My Library.  You've mentally built him a room."

"And you mentally made him your son!"

They glare at each other.  Eleanor crosses her arms over her chest and Loki sighs heavily.  He finishes his wine and gets up, muttering under his breath and waving his hands around.  Eleanor can feel his magic in the air.  It makes her hair stand on end and she shivers.  There is a low groaning in the walls as the structure shifts and stretches.  It only takes a few minutes for Loki to add a room for Vali between her music room and his study.

"I'll think on it, Eleanor.  All right?  This whole thing is happening far too quickly."

She nods.  "Okay.  But you can't wait years and years.  It's not fair to Vali."

"Perhaps a month?"

A month seems like forever, but to her half-mortal eyes Vali looks like a two-year-old, even though he’s been alive for nearly sixteen years. To an Asgardian, a month really is nothing.

"Fine.  You can have a fucking month."

* * *

 

Three days later Eleanor wakes to see Vali curled tightly on Loki's chest. Vali is tucked under his chin and Loki's hand rests on the toddler's back.  His palm is so large and Vali is so small.  Eleanor feels a bit like weeping again. She raises an eyebrow and Loki shoots her a rueful smile.

"I believe he had dreams," Loki whispers.  "Unpleasant ones.  There were tears in his eyes, although he merely whimpered rather than full on crying.  He seemed content with the comfort I provided and I saw no reason to wake you."

Eleanor smiles.  She kisses Loki's cheek and then Vali's forehead.

"I also saw no reason to return him to his bed.  I do not think he likes being in his own room.  Perhaps he can stay with Lenara until he's a bit older, bit more comfortable."

Eleanor nods, too choked up to respond.

"And... And I think option number two," Loki whispers like his soft, loving side is still a deep dark secret. "I think... Yes.  The son option, if he will have me as a father.”

"You are exactly the kind of father this kid needs," she whispers because it's true.  Loki's lived experience – and his survival of Odin's many, many, many mistakes – make him the best possible father for Vali.

Eleanor loses the battle against her tears.

Loki huffs and scowls, resettling Vali and staring at the ceiling.  "Really, Eleanor.  Contain yourself."

She rolls her eyes, kisses him again, and gets out of bed.

Lenara is up and babbling when Eleanor peeks over the crib railing.  She is thoroughly entranced by her mobile – a floating model of Yggdrasil that Eleanor accidently purchased upon her arrival on Asgard – until she catches sight of her mother.  Her pink lips curl into a delightfully goofy grin and the toothless smile melts Eleanor's heart to an unreasonable degree.  Every time.

Len looses patience with Eleanor’s adoring gaze rather quickly, and whimpers, little legs kicking and tiny fists reaching up.

"Hey there, sweet thing," Eleanor murmurs as she lifts her daughter into her arms.  “You hungry?  Let's go sit with Daddy and your brother—"  She stops for a moment to deal with more tears.  "Let's go sit with Daddy and your brother and we'll get you fed."

Loki has the curtains open and Vali is awake but still circled up on Loki's chest – his father's chest – when Eleanor crawls back into bed.

She feeds her daughter and enjoys the quiet, perfect moment with her husband and her children.  Her miracle daughter and the son she chose.  Her family.

It does not feel real.  Perhaps is a dream.  Somehow she's stepped into the idyllic life she gave up on when she was still a teenager.  For so long – when she was alone living as a struggling musician, when she was responsible for Loki's rehabilitation, when they lived under the unknown threat from Bragi's dreams, and when her whole life was a lie because Loki wore Odin’s face – she was simply reacting, making the best of shitty circumstance.

But this she chose.  This she's always wanted, even when wanting it hurt.

“Hey, Vali,” Eleanor whispers. “Good morning. You are going to stay here with us from now on. You are going to live with us and we are going to be your family. Is that all right?”

Vali cracks a smile. When Eleanor beams back, he gets shy and hides his face in Loki’s chest.

“And I can be your Mommy, if you want.” She doesn’t want to replace Meryn or confuse him further, but it is pretty clear that he doesn’t really understand the whole concept of death and he’s still so young. On Midgard she would have spent weeks reading everything she could on how to adopt a toddler, but adoption isn’t really a thing on Asgard, with the glaring and botched exception of her husband, so Eleanor has no choice but to simply go with her gut. “And Loki can be your Daddy.”

“Father,” Loki corrects, rolling his eyes. He tickles Vali’s side for a moment, causing the kid to giggle and squirm. “If you would have me, Vali, I would be your father.”

And, as seems to be the usual these days, Eleanor can’t help but weep.

"Eleanor, you are soaking our daughter with your tears," Loki murmurs. "Vali, look at your ridiculous mother.  Crying because she's happy.  That's your doing, dear boy.  She's happy because we get to keep you.  Your new mother and me and your new sister, Lenara.  We get to keep you."

And that simply makes Eleanor cry more.

* * *

They discover what makes Vali cry exactly one week after the undeniably hasty decision to make him their son. Lenara wakes up sobbing – a thankfully rare occurrence these days – which seems to deeply disturb Vali. This in turn further upsets Lenara and they spend a very trying half hour trying to soothe both.

A week after that, Vali speaks for the first time since they brought him to the palace. “Father!” he says, showing a mouth full of tiny teeth as he grins up at them from where he sits at their feet, doodling. “Mommy, look.” He crawls onto the couch, oblivious to his parents’ stunned silence, to squeeze in between them. He shows them his artwork and it takes both Loki and Eleanor longer than it should to shower him with praise.

Months pass and Vali turns sixteen, a fact Eleanor can still not wrap her head around. They celebrate with the royal family in Odin’s towers and although Vali seems a little overwhelmed by the excessive gifts he receives, he shares all his new toys with Lenara and smears his face with chocolate cake.

They settle in as a family and find balance between duties and kids. Vali learns new words and Lenara sits up one day with no warning, before she even attempted to roll over.

Despite the peace, there are still moments of absolute terror, like when Lenara is ten months and she abruptly stops eating. She doesn’t cry but her eyes are glassy and she sits in her crib, flinching away whenever someone tries to touch her. It takes two sleepless nights and a visit from Fey to figure out that Lenny is too hot. In retrospect the whole thing is obvious and they spend days afterward wracked with guilt, but the fix is simple. Loki turns her crib into a sort of refrigerator and they make sure to monitor her temperature throughout the day.

Every night they all crawl into bed together and Loki reads the kids to sleep, Lenny falling asleep within the first few moments but Vali fighting valiantly each night to keep his eyes open a little longer as Loki works his way through classic tales, both Midgardian and Asgardian a like. They put their sleeping kids in their own beds and don’t need words to share just how lucky they feel.

* * *

 

"God, it's sickening."

Eleanor shakes her head, surprised to see Darcy appearing at her shoulder.  Loki sent her on a mission to fill plates of food for them to share, but staring at her family distracted her from said mission.  She quite enjoys observing Loki from a distance, seeing how small Lenara looks napping in the crook of his elbow and how comfortable Vali now is, seated at his father's feet and content to play with his boots.  Her husband chats with Jane and Tony Stark, probably discussing something extremely boring and technical.

"What's sickening?" Eleanor asks, turning back to the buffet.  She can't imagine feeling anything but joy with every person she cares most about in the world here on the Realm Eternal, celebrating Lenara's first birthday.

"That schmoopy look on your face when you ogle your family," says Darcy, filling a plate herself.  "Gross."

Eleanor rolls her eyes.  "Schmoopy?  At least I don't go around mounting Loki in public, like some people do with their significant others."

"He was a ninety-five year old virgin when I got my hands on him.  Give the guy a break.  Plus, have you seen that ass?  I really don't know how most people survive _not_ mounting him.  In fact I would completely understand if you felt the need to do so.  I'd kick your ass, but I'd also understand," says Darcy, following Eleanor back to the center of the garden where this private gathering is taking place. 

Tomorrow Lenara will have to go through the bizarre ceremony all Asgardian infants go through on their first birthday, a sort of coming out party for the whole realm, but today it is strictly family and close friends.  Eleanor's whole family.  Steve and Darcy.  Tony and Pepper.  Plus the whole Asgardian crowd and Fey.  Odin sits beneath a weeping willow, humming to himself and running his fingers over leaves.

"Somehow I'll manage to contain myself," Eleanor says.

"Alrighty.  But seriously.  You've done good here, kid."

"Darcy, I am way older than you.  I am a mother and a princess.  Stop calling me _kid_."

"Relax, kid.  And take my compliment.  I never in a billon years thought that your crazy life would work out, but it looks like it did."

Eleanor watches Vali toddle over to Thor, who quickly tosses her son into the air and then hands over the hovering ball that he was chucking around with Captain America and Laura's kids.

"Yeah," she agrees.  "It really did."

Eleanor sits at a table where Laura is talking doctor stuff with Sigyn.  She catches Loki's eye and points at the heaping plates of food.  He holds a finger up, needing another moment to stop with the science/magic talk.

"So what's the deal with this big ceremony tomorrow?" Laura asks, stealing a roasted potato off Eleanor's plate.

"It's Lenara's introduction to society.  Traditionally for the first year Asgardian infants don't leave the home and this marks the end of that," Eleanor says, shrugging.

"Thousands of years ago, Asgard was ravaged by plagues and this was the way parents protected their children.  After the first year infants are typically strong enough to combat disease.  Although that's not really an issue any longer, the tradition remains," Sigyn explains.

"Interesting," says Laura like she really means it.

"But Lenara is the daughter of a prince so the whole thing is going to be horribly ostentatious and everyone important is going to want to meet her. God, Oza is going to be there even. I'm not thrilled about it," Eleanor says.  Across the garden, Loki drags Vali away from the ballgame.  A child in each arm, he joins Eleanor.

"Hey, little guy!"  Eleanor pulls Vali into her lap, tickling his sides and kissing his chubby cheeks.  He giggles and shrieks. "Are you hungry?"

She pulls the plate a little closer and Vali really goes to town on the roasted vegetables.

"Tony Stark keeps touching me," Loki grumbles.  "Like Fandral when he first found out I did not actually die."

"A likely story.  He probably is just using that as an excuse to get his hands on you because you are so dang attractive."

Loki grimaces.  "Please, Eleanor.  I am attempting to eat.  And do refrain from cursing in front of the children."

"Dang is not a curse word."

“It is."

"It really isn't," says Darcy.

"Wow, I was skeptical about you being a father but you certainly seem to be good at it," says Laura, glaring only a little bit.

"Thank you," says Loki with a stiff little nod.  "Although I would remind you all that I remain quite dangerous."

"Yeah," says Eleanor, wiping Vali's mouth.  "You should see him attack a diaper."

* * *

"That was the single most painful day of my entire existence."  Loki collapses face first into their bed, and although Eleanor remains silent behind him, he knows without doubt that she rolled her eyes at him.

"Whatever you say, babe."

Loki is grateful that she does not take the opportunity to remind him of the many other days that were the actual worst days of his life. 

"Do not call me babe," he mutters into his pillow.

"Whatever you say, my dear God of Over Dramatization."

"Come to bed, Eleanor."  He lifts his head to scowl at her and she waves him off in favor of disappearing into their closet.

"I thought it was kinda great," she says, puttering around, surely pulling on her hideous sleeping garments.  It is a futile effort as Loki will have her naked the moment she's within reach. "I know the family part yesterday was better, but I honestly thought the ceremony today would be worse. I mean, it was obviously horrible in that pretending to be this perfectly composed royal way, but our kids were a hit."

"Of course they were," Loki says, face back in the pillow.  This one is Eleanor's.  It is softer than his and smells of her hair.  "Our children are delightful."

"At least they were today,” Eleanor agrees, yelling over the sound of running water.  She's obviously moved on from the closet to complete the rest of her before-slumber routine, washing her face, brushing her teeth, securing her hair in a ridiculous bunch at the top of her head.  He considers joining her, but the day full of simpering and false smiling has left him exhausted.  "Poor Vali looked terrified of all the people, but I think Len loved it."

It is truth.  Their daughter grinned and giggled over every cooing Asgardian or ally to gawk at her, even Oza, who could not quite hide her dismay over how thoroughly her plans to rule Asgard fell apart in recent years.  Not entirely her fault.  She lacked the pertinent information.

"But seriously, I think people are starting to be less freaked out by you," Eleanor continues after Loki hears the distinct sounds of her spitting in the sink and rinsing her mouth.  Beside him the mattress dips and Loki blindly reaches out, wrapping an arm around her waist as Eleanor shuffles closer.  "They love the babies so much that they don't hate you as much.  Like you must not be as awful as they think you are, given the awesomeness of your kids."

She is not wrong.  Although this is truly the first time he's been forced to mingle with the elite Aesir who hate him so, his children have managed to somewhat smooth over the bad blood there.

"But still exhausting.  Everyone wanted a piece of us.  Did you see Oza whispering at Odin?  Obviously trying to talk about whatever scheme she shared with you?  He was so confused," Eleanor says, chuckling.

"I found Oza's confusion equally as delightful."

"Now that things have calmed down with Fey and Jotunheim and Oza, we are kinda done, right?"

Loki breathes in Eleanor’s scent and ponders her question.

He spent the majority of Lenara’s family birthday party yesterday discussing his plans with Stark and Jane, both of whom are progressing with their goals at a reasonable pace. Although Stark seems to suspect Loki has a more specific goal then simply preparedness, Jane is so thrilled to be working on a Bifrost project again she’s asked very few questions.

Today’s formal ceremony was much less pleasant, but Loki is rather certain that his power is not threatened by any who attended the state affair, the charm of Eleanor and the children counteracting any lingering hatred for what he is and what he’s done.

All in all, Loki cannot think of a single matter more pressing than spending time with his family.

"There will be the expected banalities of ruling in the future,” he replies, “but that is really more Thor's purview.  Barring any disasters, I am hoping for a quiet few years."

Suddenly Eleanor is sitting up next to him, disturbing his extremely comfortable position wrapped around her.  Once more he lifts his head from her pillow to properly scowl at her.

"We should go somewhere!" Eleanor declares, practically vibrating with excitement.  Her eyes are bright, her smile is wide, and she smacks the back of her hand into his shoulder several times, a strange output of her sudden elation. 

"Somewhere?"  Loki repeats, already exhausted by the prospect.

"Yeah," Eleanor says, nodding more than is necessary.  "Like a family vacation.  Just the four of us."

Loki relaxes somewhat as that does sound rather pleasant.  These last few weeks Loki's been forced to share his wife and his children with many others.  And on any given day, even when Asgard’s allies and nobility and their mortal friends are not all gathered at the palace, he must share them also, with Thor, Jane, and Odin, with Sif and the other warriors and anyone else requiring a minute of time. 

Just the four of them is a lovely prospect indeed.

"All right," Loki agrees, making Eleanor grin harder.  It is obvious that his easy acceptance was not anticipated.

"Let's go to Midgard," she says.

Loki groans.  "Why not the hunting lodge?"

"Because I come from this glorious diverse planet but you've only seen New Mexico and New York, basically."

"You are forgetting Washington DC, where I first kidnapped you.  And Stuttgart, Germany where I allowed the Avengers to kidnap me."

"You were not exactly seeing the sights at the time."

"You expect me to see sights?" he asks, aghast.

"No," Eleanor says, openly laughing at him.  "I was thinking some barely populated little tropical island somewhere.  Something with a private beach, and a nice cabin to sleep in, and snorkeling.  I've still got way more money from working at Stark then I will ever spend, in some untouched bank account. It will be hot, but you can take care of that for Len."

His instinct is to argue, but he really can find no flaw in her plan.

"Fine.  If you insist.  Family vacation."

Again, his easy agreement is not anticipated if the expression on Eleanor's face is any indication, but he is rewarded for his uncharacteristic behavior when she rolls him onto his back, straddles his waist, and pulls her shirt over her head, all in one fluid movement.

The kiss she gives him is lazy for they have time now, thousands and thousands of years of time. He is well on his way to not being the most hated creature in all of Asgard, Thor has thus far held true to his agreement of dual rule, and in the coming days he will experience something called family vacation, just the four of them.  With his children sleeping peacefully in the next room and his wife pressed as close to him as possible, Loki is truly content.

Until hours later, when Eleanor wakes up screaming.


	25. Dream On

There is a space between worlds, dark and hidden and without time.  It resides near a place called Sanctuary, although the name is misleading and this domain of Thanos is anything but.  Those who have faced the horrors of this space between worlds call it The Void, but Thanos prefers a different title, a fond, adoring one for this is where he does his best work.  The Nursery, he calls it, for in this space he creates his children, twisting and pulling and hurting until they are perfectly cruel, totally deadly, and blindly loyal.

Typically he seeks creatures with great power or great potential, but this time he expands his horizons, keeping one so weak, so pathetic, so far from extraordinary that looking upon her in The Nursery is sickening.  It is a trial to keep from crushing the life from her fragile chest, the inadequate cage of her ribs failing to protect a small heart, but she is somehow important to one of his children, the most powerful and uncontrollable of those he ever nurtured. 

He thought he understood Loki when he was released on Midgard, but not only did he fail miserably in his mission, he also fell for the disgustingly mortal girl who now stays in Thanos’ Nursery. 

Eleanor Tate, it is called.  The magic of her father has done little to overcome the weakness of her mother, but still she is a Princess of Asgard, the wife of the most powerful and uncontrollable of Thanos’ children.  And she will prove the key to regaining this control over his wayward son.

Hidden in darkness, he watches this Eleanor Tate where she hangs suspended and naked.  She is not strong in body or magic or mind.  Her body is frail, pale and unremarkable in the darkness and even the blood running down her arms and chest, flowing and drying on her legs and clotting in her light hair does nothing to make her more beautiful.  

He's kept her alone for what feels like centuries and planted doubts in her mind, but still the mortal has yet to cry out or beg for death.  He’s whispered that Loki cares not, for he let this happen, but the mortal simply rolls her eyes.  He's stripped the skin from her arms and her screams were music, but her mind is a strange fortress and he has thus far not been able to sway her towards speech.  She herself is nothing, an annoyance, a stain in his beloved Nursery, but breaking her will serve only to punish Loki for his failure. 

Perhaps this pathetic mortal should be made fully aware of her purpose now.

It starts with laughter, strange and echoing.  After so long spent alone, the laughter filling the Nursery now should be a relief but instead Eleanor Tate shivers violently, as if she already understands that this is no salvation, no end to her exile, but the beginning of her total demise.

"It will be your fault and your fault only," he hisses.  It is a thrill when she shivers again, blues eyes open now and glancing around wildly, attempting in vain to see Thanos, as if such a thing is possible in his own Nursery unless he lets it be so.  "For you, my son will burn it all, slaughter thousands and enslave realms until I have my Infinity Stones.  And it will all be for you."

Eleanor Tate's hands shake now and the invisible chains that keep her arms above her head rattle.  Thanos can smell her terror and he breathes in her fear, sighing with the pleasure of it before the shadows around him melt away.  The mortal sees him immediately as he makes himself known to her, and when he lets his laughter ring out once more, she cowers, pulling at her chains, struggling to put more space between them.

"All your fault," Thanos says, grinning wide with all his bright teeth, a stark contrast to the darkness of his Nursery.  To Eleanor, he appears to be only bright teeth and shining eyes, the dark purple leather of his face continuing to blend in to the Nursery.  "For you, your husband will burn it all.  But first, I will burn you."

And for the first time in all the eons he has used this Nursery, his charge smiles in return.  She lifts her head, smiles a smile that is familiar but does not seem to be her own, and her hands turn blue. 

* * *

 

Some latent instinct left over from his time in The Void and Sanctuary has a dagger appearing in Loki’s hand as the shrill, terrified screams of his wife wake him from slumber. 

There is no enemy to slaughter, no physical and present threat to protect her from, and he is helpless to do anything but follow as Eleanor rolls from their bed, barely making it to the washroom in time to expel the contents of her stomach into the toilet.

“Eleanor,” he murmurs, pulling back her hair with shaking hands. “What sickness is this?”

Eleanor shakes her head before her body convulses again.

“Eleanor!”

Shaking as badly as Loki is, Eleanor turns to him, throwing her arms around his neck and crying in earnest.  He rocks her slightly, at a loss.  He considers summoning Sigyn or perhaps simply crying himself. This helplessness brings him panic and he feels Eleanor’s distress as acutely as he would his own.

“Are you ill?” he manages as Eleanor continues to wail into his neck. “Speak to me. Please, Eleanor, what is wrong?”

“Dreams,” she whispers, continuing to shudder.  “Fuck, Loki.  _Dreams_.”

Swallowing back his own dread, he rises as Eleanor assures him she will not be sick again.  He lifts his petite wife with ease and carries her back to their bed.

“You must tell me,” he says firm and calm when he feels anything but. “Every detail. You must tell me now.”

Through the most violent sobs he can ever recall coming from his wife, she tells him of her dream.  She hides her face in the crook of his neck as she talks of darkness so complete it felt as if she didn't really exist and the cruel, echoing laughter that came at her from all directions.  She shakes and soaks him with her tears as she speaks of fire, the smell of burning flesh, and worst of all images in her mind that twist her memories of Loki into something false, something terrifying.  She gets near hysterical after she quotes the titan in her dream. 

She completely loses all composure, locking her arms around his neck as she continues to cry.   Loki sits them up against the headboard, rocking her gently and murmuring words of comfort she doesn't seem to hear.  It is no matter.  His mind is elsewhere and this comfort he fails to really provide is automatic rather than genuine.

After all this time anticipating retaliation of some kind for Loki's failure to deliver the Tesseract to the Mad Titan of Death, to have it upon him now is something of a relief.  Finally it will be over.  Finally they will be safe. And Loki will win, for he has so much to lose now.

Defeat is no option.

While Eleanor is falling apart in his arms, Loki plots.  He has not been idle these last years and now that he is back in the titan's sights, as evidenced by his wife's surely prophetic dream, he will need to go on the offensive with plans he's had in place for some time.

He will not wait for the Mad Titan to come for him.  He will not play defense or simply react as they were forced to do with the Dark Elves.

Loki will slay the Mad Titan, and the creature, in all his arrogance, will not see it coming.

The titan’s own plan is rather obvious and Loki could have guessed his strategy even before Eleanor’s dream.  He will take Eleanor, remaking her in his vision as he did with Loki and countless others.  He will twist her, use her for his own means and to ensure his control over Loki.

Against him, Eleanor is finally calming and in the dark of their bedroom, Loki grins. 

If the titan wants Eleanor so badly, then Eleanor he will have.

* * *

 

"He called you his son," she murmurs when words once again become possible.  It really shouldn't be her first question, but this is too much and her brain isn't working properly.  They have certainly faced adversity before, but now they have kids and the threat of the titan is too much.  Although her sobbing has mostly ceased, Eleanor still feels herself unraveling, despite Loki's shocking unflagging calm.  "Why would he call you a son?"

"Oh, yes," Loki says, completely unbothered.  "I'd forgotten that promise.  He claimed that if I did as I was told he would make me one of his children.  It was a reward of sorts, or at least it was meant to be.  Most of the titan's so-called children came to him as actual children and he got in them young, remade them young, and I suppose the allure of pleasing a father figure was appealing to them, but not I."

"What happen to them?  His children?"

Even in the dark, she can feel Loki shrug.  "Most continue to do his bidding, twisted so by pain and various other nasty experiments from genetic manipulation to cyborg technology that they have no sense of self and never question his orders.  As far as I am aware, only two managed to ever leave him.  Three, if I myself am included, and I don't consider myself included.  I was with him too short a time."

"Huh," Eleanor says, not really absorbing his words.  Instead his deep, steady voice washes over her and Eleanor feels numb.  "The dream tasted real, like this is really going to happen someday," she whispers.  That is not the best way to describe these strange premonitions, but this dream had a flavor to it, just like her Aether dreams before they left Midgard and the Dark Elves attacked, just like the visions of her daughter that she experienced when she was pregnant.

Eleanor is reasonably certain that she'll one day end up at the nonexistent mercies of the Mad Titan in The Void where her husband suffered so, but that doesn't scare her nearly as much as what Loki might do to get her back and what might happen to their kids.

"I know, my dear," he whispers and for the first time he sounds pained.  Still, she doesn't sense any fear in her husband.  She can't decide if this is a good sign or bad.  "No harm will befall you.  I swear it."

Eleanor nods.  "Go get my babies," she says, shoving at him gently.  "I know they are asleep and fine, but I want them right here."

"Of course."  Loki gives her a kiss that she can't manage to return.

With Loki gone, Eleanor turns off a light and then lies flat on her back, staring at the ceiling.  She focuses on her breathing and willingly allows herself to slip into apathy.  Numbness is a long utilized coping mechanism and she doesn't have the strength to be fully present now. 

When Loki gently lays their daughter down at Eleanor's side, Lenara sleeps on. Vali is awake and Eleanor knows she should feel guilty for that but she just can't.  He seems content enough with his forehead resting against Loki's neck, little fists curled against his father's chest.  When Loki attempts to set him down next to his sleeping sister, Vali whines and clings to his father.  Loki chuckles, keeping Vali tucked against his side as he settles back down in bed.  Within seconds Vali's eyes flicker and then stay shut. 

Eleanor reaches out, touching Len's fist with her finger.  The baby immediately latches on, even as she continues to sleep.

"My love," murmurs Loki, looking at her like it makes his heart ache.  "My sweet songbird.  Worry not.  I have a plan, have had a plan for quite some time.  You will be safe.  Our children will be safe."

"Will you be safe?" she whispers.

"Yes," Loki says, sounding too confident.  "I will be safe also.  Now sleep."

* * *

 

By the time Eleanor finally succumbs to sleep once more, Loki is nearly at the end of his patience.  Now that the time is upon him, he is antsy with the need to act.  He has considered and dismissed and then reconsidered leaving Eleanor here with the children while she was still awake to complete his task – he can't, it would be too cruel given her current, terrified-into-apathy state – when she finally dozes, and he can slip away with no guilt.

Barefooted and wearing only a rumpled sleeping tunic, he closes the bedroom door behind him with no sound, careful not to wake his family.  The journey across their rooms to his library is a short one and he brings the lights up to a dim glow.

The device sits on a high shelf, a small innocuous sphere that easily passes as some meaningless trinket but is in actuality capable of reaching out to communicate across realms, across galaxies, without leaving a trace, magical or otherwise.

As Loki sits in his favorite chair by the window in his library, it disappears from the shelf only to reappear in his palm in the next instant.  He rolls the sphere between his hands, giving himself time to carefully plan his words.  In all likelihood such plans will be for naught, as no one is more difficult to predict than the most infamous assassin in the realms.

Eleanor is a close second on the unpredictable front, and thinking of his wife now inspires Loki to stop ruminating and start acting, because he would be back in bed when she opens her eyes again, after such a night.

For the first time in years, since Loki became king and he heard tales of the assassin’s defection from her so-called father, Loki slots his fingertips into grooves hidden along the smooth surface of the device.  The sphere hums to life, floating before him and vibrating in the air as it transforms into a flat screen.

He waits with little patience, imagining that somewhere on the other side of the universe the assassin’s own sphere is rattling, demanding she slot her fingertips into grooves.  It will only open to a unique print of fingers.

Although it feels like it takes an eternity, it is only a few moments but still enough time for Loki to regret failing to fix his hair.

And suddenly the assassin is before him, visage blinking at him from his hovering screen.  It is impossible to discern her location for the darkness is too great.  Behind her appears to be some sort of poster from Midgard, but that hardly seems likely. 

Although he's managed to remain shockingly calm through Eleanor's terror and the realization that the time to kill the titan is upon him, the dark eyes and green skin of the assassin brings him back to his time in the titan's domain, after he was sufficiently remade and was preparing to enslave Midgard.  She was always so quiet, unlike her sister, but looking upon her now fills Loki's chest with that tight, familiar panic.  They spent vast amounts of time together, the assassin training with Loki to restore his weak, emaciated form back to fighting condition after he was released from The Void, but she still said little.

"Loki?" she asks, her voice raspy and confused.  He also notices now her messy hair – brown at the root, pink at the ends – and slightly swollen eyes.  It becomes obvious that he's awoken her.  With the evidence of her current vulnerability and confusion before him, the coil in his chest loosens to the point where speech and rationality are once more possible.

"Gamora," Loki greets, nodding once.

The assassin shakes her head, running her hands through her hair as she sits up more fully.  There is some commotion behind her, another body stirring on the bed.  Gamora's eyes flash to Loki once more before she turns her screen around, giving him a view of a small, neat cabin and shielding her companion from his sight.

It is probably not the best of signs, that the assassin does not trust him even with this, but Loki will do his very best to keep his wife hidden from this unfortunately necessary ally as well so he can hardly begrudge her secrecy.

"Come back here, woman."  It's a sleepy grumble, a male voice that Loki can barely make out.

"Be silent or I will cut your throat."

Loki grins to himself, feeling more confident in this necessary risk than he did moments ago.

"You know, every time you say that it gets a little less scary," mumbles the assassin's companion.  “I’m starting to think you’d never actually do it.”

Gamora is speaking again, whispering now and Loki cannot hear.  A moment later the screen is on the move and she stops in a brightly lit hall with nothing but the metal siding of a spacecraft visible.

Gamora glares at him and Loki smirks slightly in return, attempting to appear much more collected and in control than he feels.

"When you heard of my break from Thanos you promised to contact me for one reason, and only one reason," she says, cocking her head to the side as she studies him.

"Oh, yes," he replies, letting his grin grow slowly.  "It is time."

Gamora returns his grin, bloodthirsty, as ready for vengeance and freedom as Loki.  "Excellent,” she purrs.  “Asgard, then?”

Loki nods.

“Give me a fortnight or two."

"Make it one," he replies.

* * *

 

"I know not who she will elect to accompany her, but I imagine she will have companions."

"You know not who she consorts with and still you invite her here!  This assassin of great renown, a menace to the realms, who you invite here, and you know not who she consorts with!  I question your judgment in this, Brother.  How could you willingly allow such a dangerous, malicious, evil creature not only to breech our borders but to stay in the palace!  We should arrest her on the spot."

"You will do no such thing.  Gamora is intelligent and ruthless and her knowledge of the titan and his domain will prove invaluable.  Please, Thor.  I have been preparing for this inevitable moment for some time.  It is not just Eleanor and my family he threatens but all the realms.  You must trust me."

"It is your choice of ally I do not trust."

And so it goes. 

Eleanor listens with half an ear as Asgard's rulers bicker.  It would shock most, but this is how decisions get made in this new era of Asgard.  When the brothers disagree, which is not as often as Eleanor originally anticipated, they fight.  It starts big as they hurl accusations at each other and generally act like children.  Eleanor lets them get it out of their system before forcing them to either separate to cool off or making them spar, depending on their mood.  The pride and posturing done, they then continue to argue, but they are calm enough to hash out the details, actually listening to each other.  More often than not, they agree on the end goal but have different opinions on how to best achieve said goal, and eventually they compromise.  Occasionally Eleanor will have to step in to cast the deciding vote when the brothers argue themselves to a standstill, but this has only happened a handful of times.

Today, Eleanor just can't.

She sits on the couch in their rooms, barely listening as the brothers go back and forth.  She cradles a sleeping Lenara to her chest and holds Vali's hand as he sits at her side.  She stares at nothing and knows she should be involved in the planning, that she should slip into her role as mediator and help Loki save their family and the realm, but she is incapable of doing anything but keeping her children close and staring at the floor.

She drifts.  She is blank.  They have so much to lose.  Better to not contemplate anything at all than to think on the horrifying possibilities. She covets the fog currently keeping her oblivious but calm.

The rolling voices of Thor and Loki make a nice background for her blankness and she has no concept of how much time passes until something moves her arm, demanding her attention and focus on this room in this moment.

Beside her Vali is scowling up at her, attempting to dislodge her grip on his wrist.  It takes her longer than it should to understand what is happening, and still she doesn't quite get how Vali would want to be away from her at a time like this.

"Mama," he says, uncharacteristically whiny.  "Blocks."

Together they both glance at his toys on the floor.

"Oh," she says, releasing him immediately.  Her son flashes her a confused look before sliding off the sofa and plopping himself down in front of his toys.  The distance between them is difficult for Eleanor to bear, even if it is only a few feet, and she watches Vali intently, convinced that if she even blinks he might be taken from her.  Although her arms ache, she refuses to put Lenara down in her crib.

When Vali eventually gets bored – it might be a minute later, it might be an hour – he delivers a picture book for her to read and he leans against her to listen.  It is a relief.

Her voice is soft and Vali insists on turning the pages himself.  She runs her fingers through her son’s hair, amazed by how quickly and thoroughly she fell in love with this tiny Asgardian.  Failing him is unthinkable and her mind works in circles, knowing she must do something but too frightened to figure out what.

"No, Mommy," Vali says, frowning up at her again.  "This."

She's read the same line multiple times it would seem.  As she becomes aware of this failure she also notices the relative silence in their rooms and Loki, standing before her with his hands clenched behind his back and a frown that looks remarkably like Vali's marring his beautiful features.

"Oh," Eleanor says, feeling foolish.  "Are you done fighting?"

Loki's lips twitch into something that might have been a smile under vastly different circumstances. 

"About this, anyway,” he says with a sigh.  “The assassin will be welcome here, although the fewer who know of her presence on this realm the better.  They'll have to stay here in the family section of the palace and servant activity will need to be kept to a minimum.  It will not do if her presence here is brought to the attention of the titan.  He must continue to believe that he will have the advantage of surprise.  I know they cause you great terror, but your prophetic dreams are saving us, my sweet songbird. They mean that we are back in the titan’s thoughts, but he plans slowly.  We have time."

Eleanor nods as if she's really listening.  Hearing, maybe, but certainly not listening.  She knows that she should ask about this ally, ask about what he's been planning, but she just can't.

"We certainly seem to get the best results when Thor and I bicker," Loki says, sighing heavily.

At her side, Vali loses patience.  "Mama!  Reading now."

"Oh," says Eleanor, forgetting where she was.

"Here," says Loki, sliding onto the couch next to their son.  "I will do it."

Vali grins and nods, climbing into Loki's lap, leaning back against his father's chest and pointing to the place in the story where Eleanor left off.  Loki's better at the reading thing than Eleanor anyway.  He's more creative with the voices he uses.

Eleanor slouches low on the cushions, adjusting Lenara against her chest.  The baby stirs slightly and then settles.  Eleanor watches Loki's lips move as he speaks.

* * *

 

She dreams again.

This time the titan is irritated and antsy.  Dismayed by the length of time he’s held Eleanor in The Void with no appearance from Loki, he whispers lies in Eleanor’s ear, convincing her that Loki’s love was an illusion only.  That he is a coward that would rather hide than risk facing the titan again to get his wife back.

“Perhaps his love for your children is more genuine,” muses Thanos.  “Yes, I just recently learned of their existence, or I would have taken them and not bothered with you, pathetic mortal wretch. How much skin do you think I could melt from the bones of these tiny creatures before they welcomed the respite of death?”

Eleanor wakes up screaming again and resolves to stop sleeping.

* * *

 

"Eleanor."

She blinks.

"Please, my love. Do you understand what I ask of you?"

She blinks again and Loki sighs.  They do not have the time for Eleanor to shut down so drastically, but nothing he's done in the four days since she awoke screaming from her dream has successfully brought his wife back to him. 

She has not slept for three nights and Loki has awoken before the sun rises to see Lenara and Vali asleep beside him – Eleanor insists they stay here, convinced they will be snatched from the nursery – but not his wife. He’s found her three times in her music room, sitting still on the floor as instruments float around her head. The sounds she creates are distressed and desperate and nothing like Loki’s ever heard.  Although she allows him to bring her back to bed each night, she still does not sleep.

Despite his fear for her mental health, he fears the titan more and Eleanor's dreams indicate that Loki and his family are once more in the titan's thoughts and plans.  Although he takes years, decades even, to execute a plan, everything must be in place long before the titan moves for Loki to succeed.  Eleanor's fear for their family and her inability to forget the horrors of her dreams leave her hollow.  If they had the time he would spend every moment talking to her, touching her, forcing her to come back.

But he does not have the time, and as much as it pains him, Loki will need to ignore Eleanor's pain for now in order to ensure a future where her dreams do not occur in reality.  The only way to guarantee that his wife comes back to herself is to successfully defeat this threat.

"Eleanor," he says, leading her to the closet with a hand firmly wrapped around her wrist.  "Today we go to Midgard.  I would leave you here, if I could, but it is possible that the bond still limits the distance we can put between us.  I'm sorry, my sweet songbird, but the children must stay here."

He's busy pulling her hideous and unshapely sleeping garment over her head and handing her appropriate clothes for the day, but his words finally seem to wake her up slightly.

For three days she’s been blank with sleep deprivation, and this sign of life now is something of a relief, even if she is displeased with him.

"What?" she snaps, yanking the pale green tunic from his hands.  She is totally unaware of her partial nudity and Loki wills himself to say focused.  "You want to leave our kids here, on a different realm, totally unprotected?"

"They are far too young to brave the journey of the Bifrost, or at least Lenara is, and it makes little sense to separate them unnecessarily.  And they will hardly be unprotected, Eleanor.  Thor has promised to stay with them.  Even if he must bring them to the throne room, Thor will not let them out of his sight for the entirety of the time we are off world."

"No," Eleanor pulls the tunic on over her head before turning away in search of leather leggings to wear beneath.  "I'm not going."

"You must, Eleanor.  I must see Tony Stark."

"No."

For a moment, Loki's concern for his wife and determination to defeat the titan once and for all is completely overridden by rage.  The situation is most dire and Eleanor is a ghost.  An unreasonable, blank, unhelpful burden. 

Fists clenched at his sides, Loki squeezes his eyes closed and gives himself several long seconds to calm. 

He recalls her face in the mornings after a dream and the sounds of her screams as she is forced to endure tortures so vivid they seem real.  He knows the incomprehensible brutality she faces when she allows herself sleep, and to Eleanor it feels real.

Once more his rage cools to a manageable level and he directs it where it should be directed, toward the titan.

"Please," Loki whispers.  "Eleanor, I need you to be strong.  I need you to allow me to protect our family.  _Please_."

She blinks up at him again, nodding, and for a moment Loki thinks he sees the warrior in his wife, but she's completely shut down all emotion again by the time they kiss their children goodbye and step into the Bifrost pavilion.

* * *

 

"Well this is awkward," says Tony Stark as he opens the sliding glass doors to the laboratory that was once Jane Foster's.  The years Loki and Eleanor spent here in New Mexico, working on the Bifrost with Asgard's current queen, feel very far away.

"Why?" asks Loki, pushing past him into a lab without waiting for an invitation.  “Never mind, I care not.  Where is the device?"

"Jeeze, no small talk?  You're not even going to buy me dinner first?" asks Tony, inexplicably invading Loki's personal space and fluttering his eyelashes.

"I am now strongly considering breaking your jaw first," Loki replies.  "The device, Stark."

Across the lab a mortal in a suit drops something, garnering Loki's attention.  The man is gaping and glaring, eyes fixed on Loki as if he very much wishes he possessed the ability to melt things with his eyes.

"Leave, mortal," says Loki, flicking his hand the man’s direction.

Tony Stark sounds as if he’s choking on something.

"That's all you have to say to me?" asks the mortal.

Loki sighs and rubs his temples.  “Leave now, mortal, before I rip you limb from limb."

"You've tried to kill me once before. And this time I will make it much harder." The fool actually draws a gun from his hip, aiming at Loki's forehead.

"What's this dribble?" he asks, turning to Eleanor.  His wife is a silent presence behind him and both male mortals in the lab seem somewhat surprised to see her here. 

Face totally impassive, Eleanor comes to stand in front of him, shielding him with her body.  It's a nice gesture, her protectiveness, but Loki would never allow a bullet to get anywhere either one of them.

"You stabbed him, Loki," Eleanor says, inflection bland and monotone.  "Right through the chest.  Does no one stay dead around here?"

"I did not stab him."

"You really did."

"When?  I have greatly limited my stabbing in recent years.  All for you, wife."

Eleanor shrugs and moves away from Loki, taking a seat at her old desk.  She stares at nothing, her eyelids drooping, but she valiantly fights the lure of sleep.

“What the hell did you do to Madonna?” Tony Stark demands, poking Loki in the chest.

“I did nothing!” Loki hisses, patience nearly expired. “She has not slept in three days. And the two nights prior when she did sleep, she dreamt of incomprehensible tortures as if they were truly happening to her, so it wasn’t particularly restful.  I am sure she is on the verge of hallucinating, but it is certainly not my doing.  We have left our children protected only by my idiot brother and if anything happens to them because you are delaying what should be a short visit with useless inquires I will hurt you, Stark.  You and your children and your children’s unborn children.  The weapon.  Now!”

“Fuck!” says Stark, hands up in surrender. “Keep your fucking pants on!” And he works his way through the messy workspace before disappearing into a closet.  Loki can hear him cursing and rummaging.

The mortal who Loki apparently failed to kill in the past is cautiously approaching Eleanor.  “Do you need help?” he whispers, crouching at her side.  “We can get you away from this maniac.  Protect you.”

Eleanor tilts her head towards the mortal, a knife appearing in her hand. She pushes the blade into his neck and the mortal’s shock is hilarious. 

“Fuck off,” says Eleanor, still unable to conjure any real emotion.  “I’m exhausted and kinda murderous and in no mood to hear ignorant formerly-dead assholes insult my husband.  Fuck off, or I’ll stab you like he did.  Only this time death will last.”

Loki chuckles as the mortal swallows, wincing at the pointed metal still pressed against his skin.  The mortal dares not move and Eleanor shows no signs of dropping her weapon. Given his current mood, he would quite like Eleanor to murder this mortal irritant but after his wife gets a good night’s sleep she would surely murder Loki in return for allowing such a thing. And it would do little to ensure Stark’s continued corporation.

Sighing, Loki moves to stand behind his wife. The mortal’s eyes follow his movements and the fear obvious there is a nice change of pace, as everyone Loki spends the majority of his time with these days seems to have forgotten that he is dangerous.

“Eleanor, murder in cold blood is really not on the schedule for the day,” Loki says, rubbing her shoulders.

“What the fuck?” says Stark, appearing once more with a flat, circular device clutched in his hands, kicking a box across the slick metal floor.

Eleanor sighs and allows Loki to confiscate her weapon. The mortal scrambles away, his breathing ragged, the expression on his face betrayed and offended.

“No one is killing Coulson!  Not again!” says Stark.

“Your friend Coulson needs to stop throwing around the word maniac,” mutters Eleanor, slumping low in her seat as this Coulson gets to his feet. “He has no fucking clue what’s out there.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Stark asks Eleanor, sounding genuinely concerned.

Eleanor simply stares at him, the expression disconcerting for all who witness it, and Loki desperately attempts to keep this mission to Midgard focused.

“I have no interest in this mortal,” Loki says, nearly groaning.  Today it seems everyone is determined to derail his plans and be as difficult as possible. “The weapon, Stark!”

Tony rolls his eyes and places the small bomb in Loki’s outstretched palm.

“And it is cold activated?” Loki asks, examining it.

“Yeah, anything under negative fifty Celsius will have it going off.”

“And it will implode rather then explode?”

“Yup.”

“You made only one?  What if I would test this myself?”

Stark kicks at a cardboard box at his feet, full of similar small devices.  “I made like twenty. Go crazy, iceman.”

“You have my thanks, Tony Stark.  Assuming your invention does not prove faulty.”

Tony rolls his eyes.  “Hey, can’t you do some magic and force her to sleep?  She really looks like bad.”

They both glance down at Loki’s wife and she does not even bother to glare at them.

“I tried a sleeping spell, but she is strong enough in her own right to repel my efforts.  I could force her, I suppose, but things are not quite desperate enough to do anything without her consent,” Loki says, rubbing one hand with the other.

Tony holds up a single finger and then moves to do more rummaging, through a desk this time.  Loki sighs heavily, resting a hand on Eleanor’s shoulder.  The Man of Iron returns a moment later with a small orange bottle full of Midgardian medication.

“Sleeping pills,” murmurs Stark as Loki accepts this second gift.  “No dreams.”

Loki nods and with a wave of his hand the box of bombs disappears and Loki pulls Eleanor to her feet. She shoots a final glare over her shoulder at Coulson before allowing Loki to drag her back to the Bifrost.

* * *

 

Three more days of no sleep for his wife as she continues to refuse both pills and magic, and Loki once more drags Eleanor off world. He bundles her in layers of fur and leather until only her eyes are visible. 

They arrive on the frozen world of Jotunheim and Loki breathes in deep, soothed by the cold air entering his lungs. Despite the rush and welcome of frigid temperatures, Loki is still deeply apprehensive regarding this visit, and he takes Eleanor’s hand as a group of Jotunn officials approaches. He recognizes them from meetings when they were negotiating the treaty of trade.  Through the layers of cold protecting her hands, Eleanor squeezes back.

They are led through the streets of the newly rebuilt city surrounding the once great palace and Loki looks straight ahead, well aware of all the people who peer out their windows to stare as they pass. He wonders how many of their relatives he managed to kill when he briefly released the full power of the Bifrost upon them, and then stops thinking about anything but his goals for the visit.

The palace is a grand ice sculpture and Loki is begrudgingly impressed.  Even Eleanor looks slightly interested in their surroundings, and her sleep deprivation is now so severe that she can’t even manage to form a coherent sentence.

Despite the auspiciousness of the palace, Loki knows that they have no more monarchs here and that Fey’s power was derived from popular election. 

They are led to the boardroom where they find Fey, laughing and dining with several companions.  The introductions are awkward and Fey simply calls him Loki – no of Asgard, no my brother, no tiny genocidal fiend – but Loki can still feel the hate rolling off these Frost Giants in waves.  Perhaps it would have been wise to shed his Asgardian form before arriving, but he honestly did not think of it.

Inside it is a bit warmer, although not much, and Eleanor removes the fur covering half her face and pulls down her hood. She can’t focus on any one thing and does not even realize that Fey is speaking to her.

Tonight Loki resolves to force her to sleep, even if it is against her will.  Eleanor is sure to be furious, but this cannot go on.

Fey looks at her in concern, shares a frown with Loki, but then chooses not to say anything, instead leading them deep underground to a dark antechamber.

“There seems little point in training with you looking like that,” Fey says, gesturing with slight revulsion to Loki’s pale white skin after she settles Eleanor on a rock ledge by the entryway.

Loki grimaces and closes his eyes, forcing his skin to ripple into its blue form.  He is still not overly comfortable presenting as a Jotunn, but mastering his inherent and thus far unexplored powers is necessary.

“You are so puny and adorable,” says Fey with the same patronizing tone Thor uses when he is disguising an insult in a compliment.

“Fey!” Loki hisses, hands fisting at his sides. A layer of frost coats his fingertips. “Do you wish to mock or teach?”

Fey laughs, baring her sharp teeth.  “Teach.”

Under the careful tutelage of the creature that is technically his sister, Loki learns to drop the temperature of his skin to dangerously low levels that would kill any non-Jotunn, and then he learns to warm back up to his natural temperature, chilly but not dangerous for Eleanor to touch. Ice collects between his hands and he sculpts deadly daggers. 

“You are now not a total embarrassment to our people,” Fey says, nodding after a very long day.

Loki simply glares in response as he transforms back into his Asgardian form.  He relaxes slightly, comforted by the familiarity of his typical appearance.

“When you return, we will start training in the cave of fire.”

“Cave of fire?” Eleanor says, speaking for the first time since Loki awoke this morning.  “What the fuck?”

“There you will learn to maintain your temperature and your ice in more adverse of environments.  It will be a trial,” Fey says, smirking again.

Loki winces, ever fearful of fire, but nods anyway. The fire of The Void is one fear he must overcome, and the sooner the better.

* * *

 

“Did Fey say Fire Room?” Eleanor whispers. They lay in bed, their children asleep between them.

“Yes,” Loki replies, surprised that Eleanor is attempting a conversation.  “Cave of fire. But yes.”

“Fuck, I was hoping I imagined that.  I think I need to sleep, Loki.”

He barely refrains from snapping at her, huffing at her obvious statement.  “Would you like pills or magic?”

“Magic doesn’t stop the dreaming.  So I’ii try the pills.”

She swallows and Loki feels like he can breathe again for the first time in six days.

* * *

 

“Which one, Vali? The tambourine?” she asks, shaking the instrument at her son.  Vali giggles and reaches out, but Lenara dives across Eleanor’s lap to claim it for herself.

“Mine!” she says before sticking it in her mouth.

“Len!” says Eleanor, half delighted, half dismayed.  “You learned a new word, I see.”  It is her fourth in as many weeks, just behind Fa and Ma.  Her very first word was Val.  Before the dreams, this was all very exciting and now that she’s had a couple full nights’ sleep – aided by Tony’s drugs – she can remember that life is going on around her.

“Mommy,” says Vali. “She may have it. I want this one.” He selects a bright pink shaker from Eleanor’s basket and settles happily at her side.

“Mine!” says Lenara, the tambourine forgotten.

“Alright, Lenny,” replies Vali, giving up the shaker and reaching for the tambourine. “I want this one.”

“Mine!” says Lenara, stubbornly holding both instruments.

“Sharing, Lenny. One for me and one for you,” explains Vali, very seriously.

Eleanor smiles at Vali gently scolding his sister and how intently Lenara stares at her brother as he speaks.  Smiling feels strange after so many days reveling in sleep-deprived misery, and for one little moment she actually managed to forget the source of all her current worry.

Thinking about her dreams, Eleanor shivers and takes a deep breath.   This afternoon she is in the gardens with her kids and some instruments, for the express purposes of actively not thinking about the Mad Titan and his plans for their family.

Lenara giggles, gives the tambourine a good shaking, and then hands it over to her brother. “Val,” she says.

“Yes, well done, Lenara. Sharing is important.” Eleanor blows a raspberry on her daughter’s cheek, causing her to shriek and giggle.  “And you, dear boy.”  Eleanor pulls her son into her lap, tickling him slightly. “You are such a good big brother. So patient and kind.”

“Mine!” Len says again. This time both instruments are ignored as she crawls over and tugs at Vali’s arm.  He shifts to hug her and Len lets out another delighted chortle. “Mine Val.  Val mine.”

Eleanor smiles again and fights her tears as her children coo over each other.  She just got this perfect little family with these painfully beautiful kids, and the prospect of this biggest of all the baddies in the universe now having its sights set on ruining them terrifies her as nothing has before.

For the first time, Eleanor is crippled by her fear.  Before she’s been able to remain calm and deal one step at a time, but this is different.

Loki’s obviously been planning for this moment for a long time, and his steady calm should reassure her, but nothing does.  Not even his promises that the titan will die and their family will be safe can make her hands stop shaking.

Even if he always keeps his promises.  At least to her.

“Mama?” Vali is frowning up at her and Lenara is quickly picking up on her brother’s distress, so Eleanor pulls it together and gives them both her most bright of smiles.

“Would anyone like to hear a song?”

* * *

 

“ _Sweet home Alabama_ ,” she croons.  Around them a whole slew of instruments float, each note controlled by her magic, as she spins around in a circle with Vali in her arms. After years of practice, it takes no thought at all to control multiple instruments at once, and no effort at all to dance with her son through the garden while she does so. “ _Where the skies are so blue!  Sweet home, Alabama.  Glad I’m coming home to you.”_

At her feet Lenara is completely focused on the shaker in her tiny hand and she keeps beat with uncanny perfection.

Eleanor tries to dance away her dread, reveling in the things she loves most, sunshine and singing at the top of her lungs, the smell of hundreds of beautifully blooming flowers and her children’s laughter.

Vali laughs now as she spins and tightens his arms around her neck as she shakes her hips and really wails on a guitar solo.

At the end of the song the instruments stay suspended in the air and she bows at Lenara, making Vali giggle as she dips him deep.

The applause is certainly unexpected and Eleanor whirls on the spot, the little bit of peace she found this afternoon disappearing in a moment as she takes in the sight of the stranger slowly descending the golden staircase that leads to what is supposed to be a private, royal garden.  Around her the instruments disappear.

“Quite the number there,” says the stranger as Eleanor rushes to stand in front of Lenara. She sets down Vali and he immediately holds his sister’s hand.  His spare arm wraps around Eleanor’s leg.

Her hands fist at her sides, ready to conjure a weapon at the slightest provocation. Through the bond she pushes her distress at Loki, demanding that she’s heard and that he get here. Now.

“Thanks,” she replies as he continues to approach.  “And you are?”

“They call me Star Lord,” he says, popping the collar of his burgundy leather jacket and smirking at her.  He is tall, blond, something that looks like human, and his smirk does nothing to endear him to her. “Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

“Nope,” she says, letting a thin sword appear in her hand as this Star Lord shows no sign of stopping his admittedly lazy approach.  “And that’s why you can’t get any closer there, bucko.”

“Whoa there, lady,” he says, stopping right away and putting his hands in the air. “I come in peace. At the express invitation of your prince or whatever.  Just heard the music and had to check it out.  The song, it’s from Terra, right?  I recognize it from a long, long time ago.”

“Terra?” she asks, relaxing only slightly when it becomes clear that this dude has no idea who she is. “Try Lynyrd Skynyrd.”

“Lynyrd Skynyrd!” He claps his hands and gives an excited little fist pump.  “That’s it! That’s the band. Damn.”  He mimes a little air guitar and Eleanor relaxes fractionally, but doesn’t drop her blade. 

“Where have you heard that song before?” she asks.  Behind her Vali whimpers and Eleanor drops her spare hand, pushing her fingers through his dark hair.

“It’s from my planet. From Terra,” says the stranger.

“Terra?” she asks, blinking.  “What, you’re mortal?”

“Hey! Whoa, lady.  We just met!  No need to start name calling.”  Looking chagrined, he straightens his jacket.

Eleanor can’t help but smile.  “Are you from Midgard? Are you Midgardian?”

“What? What’s that?  I thought we agreed.  No name calling.”

This time Eleanor really does chuckle before she tries again.  “Are you human?”

“Yeah!” he replies, taking a few steps closer.  “From Earth. Well, sorta.  I guess.  What about you? I’ve never met another one before, from Terra. Have you?  Have you been there?  Whoa!”

In his excitement, Mr. Star Lord seemed to forget that Eleanor is on the defensive here, protecting her children and brandishing a sword.  He gets too close and she brings the point to his throat to remind him.

“Back away from my kids,” she says, keeping her voice friendly and light to keep from alarming said kids further.

He stares long and hard at her children, his expression soft and almost wistful. She presses her sword a bit harder into his throat.

The Star Lord is not a total moron, despite all the evidence so far, and he takes two huge steps away. He keeps his hands on his head and seems to vibrate in place, eyes wide and pleading.  Everything about him reminds her of an overactive puppy, but he has a gun holstered to his thigh and who knows what else hidden in his trench coat.

“Are you human?” he asks again.

“Sorta,” she replies, giving him the answer he gave her.  It makes him grin and Eleanor is just curious enough to be honest. “Mom was a mortal. Dad’s Asgardian. I was raised there, on Earth, and moved here like… fiveish years ago? Maybe six?”

After everything that’s happened, it’s a struggle to actually remember.

“Me too!” Well, I’m not sure what my dad was, but my mom was definitely—“

Suddenly the Star Lord is swimming in magic.  He is suspended a good fifteen feet above their heads, punching and kicking fruitlessly at the great green glowing energy that holds him there.

“Eleanor?” Loki is beside her in an instant, crouching to bring both their kids into his arms. Although they managed to stay rather quiet during her bizarre conversation with the Star Lord, now Lenara lets out a sob while Vali whimpers.

“I’m fine,” she says, her weapon vanishing.  “We’re fine. I just didn’t know who this guy was and he heard me sing and it was freaking me out.”

“What is the meaning of this!”  And another stranger is before them, drawing her own knife as she sprints down the stairs to stand directly below the Star Lord’s prison.  “You promised us asylum and now you break your word so easily? Unhand him!”

This stranger is green, female, and far scarier than the idiot flailing wildly in Loki’s energy prison.

“He is out of bounds, Gamora,” hisses Loki, glaring up at the Star Lord.  “He has no right to be here, watching my wife and my children, frightening them.  Threatening them?”

He glances at Eleanor and she shakes her head.  “It’s okay, sweetheart,” she says, rubbing his arm.  “You can let him go.  I’m sorry I scared you, but given everything that’s going on… Well, can’t be too careful, right?”

The Star Lord is released, looking more like an excited little kid then someone who Loki could have easily killed without flinching.  He stands behind the terrifying green woman, hands on both of her shoulders and shaking her slightly.

“That was so freaking cool!  Dude, how did you do that? Can I go again?”

The green woman rolls her eyes and then seems to notice that Loki has a kid propped up on each hip. Her eyes go wide as she stares, looking younger and fractionally less terrifying then she did a moment ago.

“You’ve children?” she whispers.  “These are your children?”

Loki sighs. “Yes.”

“After… After everything Father did you’ve managed to have children?  You trust yourself with them?” she asks.  Behind her the Star Lord stops shaking her to run his palms up and down her bare arms.

Eleanor frowns up at her husband because it really doesn’t seem likely this lady knows Odin well enough to call him _Father_.

“The titan was never my father, Gamora,” he snaps.  “I have a perfectly dysfunctional one of my own wandering around here somewhere, and another that I killed.  You were never supposed to meet my children, but yes.  Here they are.  And here is my wife, Eleanor. Eleanor, this is the assassin, Gamora. She will assist in this great endeavor.”

Eleanor nods at Gamora. Gamora nods back.

“And this man who startled you appears to be her pet of some kind,” Loki continues.

“Hey, man!” protests the Star Lord but Gamora actually smiles.

“It is an accurate description.  Please call him Quill.”

“Yo, why didn’t we get invited to the party?”

Three more creatures are standing at the top of the stairs, Thor and Sif loitering behind them.

"Is that..."  Eleanor rubs her eyes, well aware that the recent lack of sleep has caused her mind to be off this last week.  Threatening Coulson, failing to be involved with whatever probably dangerous and destructive plan Loki has cooked up, is not normal for her, and although last night’s pharmaceutical induced, dreamless sleep has brought her back to herself enough to sing with her kids in the garden, she's well aware that visual hallucinations are still entirely possible at this point.  "Is that a fucking walking tree?  And a goddamn talking raccoon?"

The hulking alien with strangely patterned grey and red skin is the least weird thing she is currently seeing at the top of the stairs.

"Language, Eleanor!" Loki hisses at her side, reaching up to cover the ears of each kid resting on his hips. 

"Watch who you're calling raccoon there, sweetheart," says the goddamn talking raccoon.

She turns slightly, not willing to face away from this odd group of strangers but needing to look at Loki for confirmation that she's not lost it completely.

Loki sighs, looking tired and wary.  "Gamora keeps odd company," he replies with a shrug.  "But she's the best."

"Hey. We’re all the best," says the Star Lord – Quill – shaking out his limbs and clearing his ears like being trapped in Loki's magic did strange things to his insides.

"What the fuck did I miss?" she asks, feeling as though she is forcing her way through a dense fog.

"Plenty.  Do you care to join us in this planning stage, or would you rather continue not sleeping?" Loki asks, bouncing Lenara on his hip and frowning down at her.

Eleanor slaps at her cheeks, just hard enough to make her more alert than she's been in days.  "Okay, okay.  Time to wake up." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the best readers. Seriously, the best.
> 
> Thanks to Heather and Monica for being awesome, speedy betas!
> 
> This is the last one till December, people. November is nearly upon us and all my writing time will be devoted to my NaNo novel. 
> 
> Come say hi! jaxington.tumblr.com!


	26. Sanctuary

Eleanor sleeps for eighteen straight hours and wakes alone, her bed empty of both children and husband for the first time in weeks. She vaguely recalls Loki getting up sometime before dawn, pulling the blankets to her chin and murmuring, hush, darling, _sleep, sleep, sleep._

So she slept and somehow managed to dream of only sunshine and red New Mexico earth.

In the main room she finds Neela, sitting on the floor with Vali and smiling at him as he colors with the crayons Darcy got him for his birthday.

For long moments, Eleanor simply watches her son. She thinks it would be possible to watch him draw indefinitely, but after a few minutes Vali glances up from his scribbling, scrambling to his feet as he catches sight of her. She stumbles slightly as he collides with her legs and lifts him into her arms as he babbles at her. The only word she can really make out is _Mommy_ in all his rushed excitement. She kisses his soft hair and prepares herself to engage in whatever plan Loki's concocted to save the universe and their family.

"Lenara sleeps on," Neela says, also getting to her feet. "Vali awoke only fifteen minutes ago, and has not had a bath or breakfast."

Eleanor nods and rocks Vali, pleased that he seems content to stay in her arms for the moment, rather than wiggling away and rushing back to his drawing.

"And I must say, Princess," continues Neela. "You look well rested. Much better than yesterday."

"Thanks. And thanks for hanging out with the kids."

"It is my genuine pleasure."

Eleanor grins. "I'm glad. But I've got it from here. I'm sure you have a full morning."

"Indeed, Princess. Oh, and Queen Jane asked me to inform you that a group is taking breakfast in the private royal hall, if you are interested in joining them."

Eleanor nods and Neela leaves. She gets Vali bathed and dressed for the day, before waking Lenara, knowing that if she sleeps much longer she'll throw off her whole nap schedule. It is a relief to get back to the routine that became so familiar before she started dreaming.

* * *

 

The private royal hall is not so great and rarely used. When the family dines together it usually happens in Odin's tower, where the old king is more comfortable, but these bizarre guests are to be kept a secret, known only to the family, Thor's warriors, and a handful of trusted servants, so the private hall it is.

Eleanor stands at the doors, Lenara on her hip and Vali clutching her hand, watching the strange crowd gathered here. At one end of the table are Jane, Sif, and Fandral. On the other are their bizarre guests, even the tree and the raccoon. Several empty chairs segregate the two groups, and only Peter Quill – the fucking half-mortal – seems willing to bridge the gap. He leans over Fandral to get a look at Jane, chattering her ear off about all things Midgard. Fandral's hand is on his sword, prepared to defend his queen if Quill makes one wrong move.

"Eleanor!" Jane says, apparently relieved for a reason to interrupt Quill. "You look great."

Eleanor rolls her eyes and approaches the table. Sif gets up and scoots over, leaving two chairs empty between herself and Jane, purposefully putting herself between Eleanor and their guests.

She settles Vali in a chair with a plate in front of him and keeps Lenara in her lap as she picks at her own food.

"Hey, rocker chick," says Quill, grinning at her from across the table.

"That is Princess Eleanor to you, mortal!" snaps Sif, halfway out of her chair.

"I don't think your friend likes me much," says Quill.

"I wonder why," drawls Eleanor.

Silence descends, save for the very serious babbling Lenara is doing at her brother. Vali is uncomfortable and quiet around these strangers, but Len is oblivious to the tension and chatters to Vali and he seems to understand his sister, even though her words are not actually words.

"So what's your plan for the day, Ellie?" asks Jane as she finishes eating.

"Find my husband," Eleanor replies. “Try to help out with his scheming now that my brain is working again."

"It is a bold plan," says Gamora, speaking from the far end of the table. "Your husband is very brave. I would not do what he is attempting."

All Eleanor knows of Loki's bold plan is that there is a plan at all, and now that she is less foggy, she fears that he's come up with something ridiculous, without her aware enough to be the voice of reason.

"Oh?" Eleanor asks, trying to sound unconcerned, like she has any idea what Loki means to do.

"Yes." Gamora says. "Willingly allowing Thanos to trap him in the Void? To take your place? I believe it will work, destroying Thanos from within, but I would not do what Loki will do. I would prefer death to a return to the Void."

Keeping her face blank as her stomach bottoms out and her heart races in her ears is very hard work.

It's worse then she thought.

"It is a good plan," Gamora says, assuring her when Eleanor fails to keep her face totally blank. "Our best possible chance for victory. Very brave."

"Yes," says Eleanor. "He is brave."

And she is going to absolutely slaughter him for it.

* * *

 

"No fucking way."

Loki winces, although really it is amazing how Eleanor managed to stay silent and keep her anger hidden as she listened to him detail the plan. As he spoke, he really had no idea that she would object so vehemently, although this was foolish on his part.

He knows his wife. Of course she objects. Vehemently.

“Eleanor, I must go. Surely you cannot expect me to passively stand by and wait for Thanos to put us on the defensive? There is no other option.” He stutters over the name, but Eleanor does not notice.

"And how exactly do you plan to pull this off, huh?" At her sides her small hands clench into fists and red splotches bloom on her cheeks, a side effect of her rage. Although he's seen his wife angry in the past, it's never been this severe and directed at him. "We don't know how far apart the bond will let us get. So what? Are we both going to trapeze into The Void together? Or are you going to have your green ex-girlfriend fly me nearby while you go it alone? What's the motherfucking plan for that, Loki?"

Loki grimaces and becomes suddenly entranced by his own boots. He stares at them intently as he gathers his courage to tell his wife a truth she is sure to hate. Although he anticipated some push back from Eleanor when she became aware of his plans, this level of anger was unanticipated, and he hasn't even disclosed the part that she is sure to find the most objectionable.

"Um." From his seat at the table Thor clears his throat. Loki completely forgot his brother's presence here in the war room when his irate wife stormed in, and if Eleanor's wince is any indication, she too failed to notice the King of Asgard in their midst. "I should depart."

"You think?" Eleanor snaps.

Thor essentially sprints from the rooms, closing the doors behind him and trapping Loki here with a furious Eleanor.

"Well?” she demands. “What about the bond, my God of Fucking Stupid Plans?"

Loki clears his throat and moves outside, to the balcony where the air is crisp. He breathes it in and calms himself for a few long moments before turning back to face the wrath of Eleanor.

"It must be broken," he whispers. He hates this. He absolutely hates it. The bond is precious to him, a bit of Eleanor that resides within, that has evolved into something unique and binding. Removing it will feel like death, but he can think of no other way to ensure Eleanor's safety, keeping her tucked in the palace while he faces all his nightmares. It is sickening, what he must do to defeat his enemy and he doesn't think himself strong enough to hand himself over to his tormentor, not without Eleanor's support.

Silence stretches and Loki chances a glance at Eleanor, but he regrets it immediately as she is shaking now with the rage that bubbles beneath the service.

He desperately wants to fall to his knees and wrap himself around her, begging her to just let him do this _please, please, please,_ but instead he locks his jaw and awaits her verdict.

Eleanor opens her mouth, closes her mouth, covers her mouth with her hands, opens her mouth again.

"You want to get rid of it," she repeats, voice deceptively calm and quiet.

"Eleanor—”

"You want to get rid of it!" she shrieks. "You want to rip out this thing that's grown between us, this thing that we don't fully understand. This bond that connects us, that we lean into without thought; that we rely on. You want to get rid of it."

"Eleanor, there is no other option. I must go and the bond will not stretch across galaxies. We must—”

"You want to let yourself get captured by your worst enemy, the terror of your dreams, the creature that tortured you and remade you into the very worst version of yourself, used you as a tool of war. And before you do that fucking suicidal thing, you want to rip out the bond that saved you the last time you got skewered with a fucking spear and nearly died! What the fuck, Loki?"

"I know," he says with a groan. When he reaches for her shoulders she jerks away. "Please, Eleanor. I know, but it must be done. There is no other option."

Silence reigns again. Eleanor attempts to speak, to continue this argument, no doubt, but she cannot seem to find the words. In the end she simply shakes her head and flees.

Her silence stretches for days.

* * *

"You really need to stop this whole not speaking to your husband thing," says Jane, frowning down at her lap where she is attempting to stitch something together.

Eleanor flinches, but doesn't look at the queen. Instead she continues to stare across the garden, where Vali is treating the walking tree giant – I am Groot – like his own personal jungle gym. Lenara sits at the creature’s feet, delighted by the flowers that constantly bloom from its toes.

The thing seems very gentle, but it is still a huge animated tree that keeps the poor company of a foulmouthed raccoon, an alien that is incapable of understanding a simple metaphor, the only other half-mortal Eleanor's ever heard of, and fucking Gamora, assassin extraordinaire.

The tree will be watched, as long as he stays so close to her children.

"Eleanor? Are you not speaking to me now, too?" asks Jane.

"It's not that I'm consciously not talking to him," Eleanor mutters as Len rips up flowers and babbles up at the tree.

"You haven't spoken a word to him in two days and he looks like shit."

"Look, I'm not punishing him with the silent treatment, alright? I’m so furious and so terrified that I don't have the words to adequately express it. And I just know if I open my mouth I’m going say something mean and cruel. I'll just regret it, whatever I say when I'm this angry, so it's better to just not talk at all."

"Oh, honey." Jane sighs and abandons her sewing to throw an arm around Eleanor. She settles with her head on Jane's shoulder and struggles not to cry as she watches her children play with a tree.

She unwillingly imagines raising them on her own, telling Vali stories of not one dead father but two, and struggling to help Lenara deal with her Jotunn heritage without really understanding what it is. The alternative is probably worse and Eleanor cannot even imagine the horrors that would ensue if Thanos got his hands on their kids, but she refuses to believe that Loki's dangerous-as-fuck plan is the only way to keep that from happening.

She's nearly worked herself up to the point of tears when Odin appears in the garden, wandering towards his grandkids and regarding Groot with open curiosity and delight. He laughs as Len offers him a bundle of flowers. The kids and Groot all giggle when Odin tucks flowers behind each ear and threads them through his messy beard.

"Hey," Eleanor calls to Odin, sitting up from Jane's shoulder and wiping at her wet eyes. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

Odin shuffles over. "Eleanor," he says, beaming. "And The Goat!"

Jane sighs but offers no comment. Instead of sitting beside them on the bench, Odin chooses to sit on the ground at their feet.

"Do you remember when you made me Loki's bót mannaforráð?” she murmurs, reaching out to detangle Odin's hair with her fingers. "Do you remember when you created the bond?"

"Yes," Odin replies.

"Good. Can you tell me about it?"

* * *

 

“Cigarettes, Eleanor? You are truly smoking _cigarettes_?”

Eleanor offers no reply and blows a generous amount of smoke in his face as he paces over to where she leans against the railing of their balcony.   He clenches his jaw, both to keep from coughing and stop himself from lashing out in rage.

This late into the night they should both be asleep, together in their bed, but he woke moments ago alone.

It is tiresome in the extreme, Eleanor’s attitude. For so long Eleanor has been his partner, unquestionably on his side. They presented a united front, even when the realms thought him dead, but now Eleanor will not so much as speak to him, so great is her disagreement with his plan.

It is the best option available to them and Eleanor is being a stubborn, ridiculous child.

“Have I gone back in time a decade?” Loki hisses in Eleanor’s ear as she turns away from him to descend the stairs into the gardens.   “To when you had a nicotine habit and refused to speak to me?”

Eleanor whirls around to glare at him and blow more smoke in his eyes.

“You really want to bring this up now?” she snaps. “When I‘ve never been angrier at you, you really want to remind me of the time you kidnapped me and trapped me underground for three months? That’s your strategy?”

Hearing her voice actually directed at him for the first time in three days is a relief.

“She speaks!” he declares, spreading his arms wide and pretending to be bowed over with shock.

Eleanor rolls her eyes and inhales deeply, keeping all that toxic vapor in her lungs far longer than necessary. It can’t be a pleasant sensation, but Eleanor does it simply to rile him up.

Even knowing this it riles him up.

“At least my kidnapping got you to stop this particularly disgusting habit.”  
Loki mutters, crossing his arms over his chest.

Eleanor blows smoke rings.

“You’ve really never been angrier with me?” Loki asks, bemused. “Truly? Not even when I faked my death and ruled Asgard as my father and made a liar out of you? Not even during said kidnapping?”

“It’s a fucking suicide mission, you insufferable asshole!” Eleanor shouts, hands flailing, feet stomping. Her voice is piercing and makes Loki wince, but it feels like progress compared to her silent treatment of the last few unbearable days. “You’re so fucking determined to get yourself killed so I’m going to smoke some fucking cigarettes.”

She is down to the filter on her current cigarette so she flicks it to the dirt, sullying the pristine garden, as another appears between her delicate fingers.

“Who even gave you these cigarettes?” Loki asks, because focusing on this is easier than attempting to convince Eleanor for the hundredth time that he will not die, when it is a promise he cannot necessarily keep.

“Tony sent them up. He’s a good friend. I know he and Pepper never got around to having kids, but I bet he’d be a good dad. What do you think, babe? Should I go to him so your kids have a father figure in their lives after you get yourself killed? Or maybe Cap will be a better replacement? Or Thor?”

Growling, his hands close around Eleanor’s shoulders and he forces her to stumble backwards until he has her pressed against the marble pillar of a nearby gazebo. With well-aimed cruelty, Eleanor is tossing his every fear at his feet. She is supposed to support him and make this very difficult and terrifying thing he must do a bit easier, when instead she simply makes it worse.

And it infuriates him.

Eleanor’s chin is raised, stubborn and defiant as ever. Smoke curls up from the cigarette she still holds at her side and Loki returns her glare with equal fervor.

Eleanor breaks first, her lip quivering and her eyes watering. A tear in her eye and a bit of her own fear shining through her rage is all it takes for Loki’s own anger to evaporate.

“Oh, Eleanor,” he murmurs. His hands no longer hold her captive but move to trace the line of her throat up to her cheeks. “My sweet songbird. There is no other way.”

A tear rolls down her cheek and Eleanor lets out a strangled sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. She shakes her head and pulls away from him, moving to sit on a bench in the gazebo. Tucking one leg beneath her, she pulls the other to her chin. The hand that brings the cigarette to her lips is trembling.

“Please,” Loki says, desperate. There is no way he will be able to protect their family without Eleanor’s assistance. “Please be brave once more.”

Eleanor snorts and shakes her head. “Your plan is not brave. It’s just fucking ridiculous. Completely banana balls. You’re going to fucking die.”

He is not totally sure what she is going on about now, but he takes the opportunity to once more outline the virtues of his decidedly not ridiculous plan.

“Eleanor, it uses the titan’s own plan against him, don’t you see? He will never expect it. This is the only way to ensure that he is destroyed, once and for all. Although it would be easy enough to invade and destroy Sanctuary, the titan is cunning. He will slip through our fingers. Even if we destroy his domain, he will disappear like—” He watches Eleanor inhale deeply on her cigarette. She tilts her head back and expels a great breath that twists in ribbons up into the air before vanishing into the night sky. “He will disappear like smoke. We must ambush him, take him unawares, and your dreams are affording us just the opportunity we need. We know his plan and ours plays into that perfectly.”

Despite all the logic and truth he gives her, Eleanor shakes her head and continues to smoke.

Beyond frustrated, Loki growls again and paces the diameter of the gazebo, tugging on his hair and attempting not to throttle the mother of his children.

“Enough, Eleanor!” he finally shouts. “You know there is no better alternative or you would have offered it up. And I know that eventually you will go along with this plan as our best chance to save not only our family but the universe at large, so can you please dispense with the dramatics and bloody get on board! We’re supposed to be partners in this and you are doing nothing but distracting me from much more pressing matters!”

Loki stops in front of her, huffing slightly as he carefully gauges her reaction. In his experience Eleanor does not respond well to being screamed at, but now she appears more thoughtful than angry.

Eleanor sucks on her cigarette and lets both her feet drop to the floor.

“I have conditions,” she says.

“Conditions? To what?”

“To going along with this fuckery.”

Loki nods for her to continue, bracing himself for the worst.

“We’re not breaking the bond,” she says, somewhat predictably.

Loki groans. “But we must—”

“Fuck no!” Eleanor is on her feet, storming towards him and poking him in the chest until he is the one trapped with his back to a pillar now. “That shit saved your life once and it might do it again. You really think cutting out this thing that’s grown inside us, tangled us together, is a good idea? And I know technically the bond won’t let us be that far apart, but we’ll just have to figure out a way around the distance limit because the bond is staying. I’ve already talked to Odin about it.”

“Odin?”

“He created it, didn’t he? And he seems pretty confident that we can figure out a way to do away with the distance part. Granted, he was pretty distracted by a walking tree at the time, but whatever.”

“You want to put this in the hands of a madman? He’s insane, Eleanor, and could easily do more damage than good.”

“He isn’t insane!” Eleanor snaps. “Stop fucking saying that. He’s different than he was, but not insane. I trust him. And he’s our best shot to keep the bond because there’s no way we’re ripping it out.”

Her reasoning is sound and he begrudgingly nods, understanding that he must give Eleanor something for her support. For the most part, he is glad that she’s pushed back so on this point, for he dreaded it so, the removal of the bond. “Anything else?” he asks.

“I don’t trust Gamora,” Eleanor says. “Not her or her fucked up band of flora and fauna.”

“My dear, I assure you—”

“Yeah, yeah, she has more reason to hate the titan than you do blah, blah, blah.” Eleanor rolls her eyes again. “Just because I trust her to want the titan dead doesn’t mean that I trust her to get you out. And that’s your master plan, right? You’re going to kill the titan and Gamora’s going to pull you out before detonating the whole thing?”

“Simply put, yes.”

“What’s to stop her from just leaving you there, huh?” Eleanor asks.

Loki grins down at her, pleased that her head is finally in the game, as they say on Midgard. His trust of Gamora is difficult to explain, borne of mutual torture and hatred. Their shared experiences have him believing that she will not betray him, but it could never hurt to give her extra incentive to follow the plan.

“What do you propose, my dear?” he asks.

“One of them stays here,” Eleanor says, pointing towards her toes. “Quill. She loves him, right? So when Gamora fucks off to destroy Sanctuary, Peter Quill stays here with me. When she returns with the thing I love she can get back the thing she loves.”

Although Gamora’s pet has so far been much too interested in his wife for his liking, Loki can once more not argue with Eleanor’s logic.

“That’s rather cold for you, Eleanor,” Loki replies, grinning widely.

Eleanor shrugs. “I learned from the best.”

“Well, it is not the worst condition I have ever heard. Anything else?”

“That’s it.”

“I have a condition of my own.”

Eleanor cracks a smile and puffs on her cigarette. “Is it that I stop smoking?”

“It is that you never smoke _again_.”

Her answering giggle is such a small sound, but it seems to fill the gaps of Loki’s chest cavity, left empty from all these days of Eleanor not speaking to him.

She drops the smoldering cigarette, lifting her skirt and smashing it with the heel of her boot, the grey ashes smeared across the golden floor.

* * *

 

The announcement that Peter Quill is to stay on Asgard for the entirety of their mission to destroy Sanctuary is not well received. Gamora seems to understand as she always does, and she agrees to this condition gracefully if not happily.

It is Peter Quill that proves the real problem, and when Gamora concedes he goes on an angry rant, flipping over a table laden with lunch before storming out. Loki begrudgingly understands this reaction, as staying behind to play the captive would drive him mad as well, but the titan is not Peter Quill’s to battle.

The rest of this strange team, Drax the Destroyer and Rocket the Raccoon, object loudly and obnoxiously, but Gamora seems to be the leader of this rag tag group, and eventually they fall silent as Gamora unrolls meticulously hand-drawn maps of Sanctuary and The Void.

This is Gamora’s area of expertise, and Loki listens more than he contributes as she determines the best way to destroy the titan’s domain. The raccoon wants to go in guns blazing while Gamora argues for stealth.

It is then that Drax, ugly, literal-minded alien that he is, pounds a massive fist on the table, causing ink pots to rattle and Loki to jump in his seat. He worries that the fool before him will wake Lenara.

“Enough!” he booms. “I care not about this Sanctuary. This plan is folly, with us providing nothing but support of this strange, skinny Asgardian. Why should we allow this stranger to get all the glory while we are pushed to the periphery? He wants Quill to stay behind so he will stay behind. He wants to fight Thanos alone so he will fight Thanos alone? No, I say. This monster is responsible for the death of my wife and children and I will have my revenge on Thanos personally, not simply by destroying his world.”

Gamora sighs heavily, casting her eyes upwards to find some patience for her idiotic companion. She then glances at Loki, raising an eyebrow and nodding for him to address that bit of stupidity.

Loki is thankful for the opportunity.

“If you do not cease with your needless tongue waggling,” says Loki, speaking lowly and slowly, “I will see fit to nail said tongue to the ceiling. That should keep you quiet.”

Gamora ducks her head to hide her laughter, but Drax sputters and the raccoon unleashes a torrent of curse words ending with, “you’re really going to let him fucking talk to us that way, Gamora?”

“Perhaps an equally painful punishment should be devised for you as well,” muses Loki, reclining in his seat. “Hunting is a popular pastime here on Asgard. I would have you banished to the forests and reward some lucky huntsmen happily for silencing you permanently. I will have you stuffed and mounted to the wall, near where your friend hangs from the ceiling by his tongue.”

It is silent for a few long moments and Loki is pleased that he’s managed to frighten these hardened criminals.

This is the unfortunate moment where Lenara sees fit to awaken from her nap. She’s slept happily in a sling on his chest, all through the commotion with Peter Quill and Drax’s outburst, but his quiet threat seems to have finally done the trick.

She lets out a happy giggle, wiggling in her sling as she reaches up a tiny hand to touch his face.

“Da,” she says.

Despite the completely inopportune timing, Loki melts as he stares at his daughter, reminded again why he is agreeing to work with these creatures in the first place.

The so-called guardians stare at him for a few silent moments, as he stares back in utter horror to have forgotten himself so thoroughly, before bursting into uproarious laughter.

After a brief moment of offence, Loki too smiles. It is rather humorous to be threatening and menacing one moment, only to appear soft and pliant with one half-formed word from his daughter.

Loki doesn’t really understand how, but the moment inspires camaraderie with these strange allies and there is no more talk of any but Loki killing the titan.

* * *

 

“This is the weirdest fucking thing we’ve ever done,” Eleanor mutters when Loki returns from putting the kids down for the night.   She agreed to let them spend the night in their own room when she started sleeping again, but she isn’t exactly thrilled about it.

She is even less so now, given Loki’s goal for the evening is particularly bizarre.

"This is the weirdest thing we've ever done," Eleanor repeats, eyeing Loki warily as he comes to stand directly in front of her, hands resting on her shoulders. "And we've done some weird-ass things."

Loki hums, not really listening as he studies her body. His examination is clinical and detached. She misses his playful smirk and the way he eyes her appreciatively, always wanting her no matter the situation.

Except this situation, right now, apparently.

He pulls her tunic over her head, leaving her in only her underwear, and never before has being mostly naked with Loki made her uncomfortable.

"Explain to me again why we have to do this?" Eleanor asks, suddenly nervous. "Please say you didn't study Odin like this when you pretending to be him."

Loki rolls his eyes and sighs, continuing to see her as only muscles and bones. "I will need to become you, my dear. This will be no simple illusion."

Eleanor frowns, still not quite getting the difference.

"When I was pretending to be Odin, you could see through the illusion. Do you remember? I did not physically change my form, simply cloaked it so everyone but you would look at me and see only Odin. Yet when I take my Jotunn form, it is a physical change. I transform into something different, and that is what I must do now. It would be very easy to see through an illusion, or cause my magic to falter. The physical change is a deliberate metamorphosis that is quite tricky to accomplish. Even if I lose focus or am tortured beyond reason, my form will not change unless I deliberately cause it to do so. Understand?"

Eleanor scowls and crosses her arms over her chest. "Yeah, I get it. When Thanos is ripping you apart you won't accidently let him know it's you. I fucking get it."

"Eleanor," Loki murmurs.

She agreed to go along with his bullshit plan, but that doesn't mean she has to be happy about it.

"Can we get a move on, please?"

Loki nods and before her eyes her ridiculously tall husband shrinks, his height diminishing until she can look straight ahead and meet his eye.

"Well, fuck," she says.

Loki reaches out to pat the top of her head and his head, making a small adjustment to his height before nodding, apparently satisfied.

Eleanor can do nothing but watch with her mouth agape as Loki's broad shoulders narrow and his limbs get skinner. He gets the slight flare of her hips just right and then grows breasts on his chest until they are the size of watermelons under his tank top, making Eleanor double over with laughter. He seems to get great joy in amusing her – not something that's happened recently – but eventually shrinks the boobs into her tiny little A-cups.

It's her body with Loki's head and Eleanor hides behind her hands, unable to watch.

"Eleanor," Loki says, still using his own voice. He tugs gently on her wrists. "You may close your eyes if this makes you uncomfortable, but I must see your face to ensure I get this part perfectly correct."

Eleanor nods and keeps her eyes closed for a few minutes.

"Eleanor," says Loki, using her voice now, too bright and more high pitched than it should be.

"Please tell me I do not sound like that," she replies with a groan, keeping her eyes firmly shut.

“Hi, I’m Eleanor and I like music and cigarettes!”

“Oh my god.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Loki is the best!”

She squeezes her eyes shut tighter, completely freaked by the sound of her voice from across the room rather than from her own mouth. “I absolutely do not sound like that.”

"You sound exactly like this. Now open your eyes. You must tell me if I've overlooked something," Loki replies, serious once more.

She opens one eye and pretends to be looking in a mirror as she checks out her husband, who has physically and deliberately changed into her exact replica.

"Fuck, Loki," she mutters, fighting the urge to cover him up a little. The baggy shorts and tank are not overly revealing, but Eleanor would rather not be seeing anything at all.

Despite the absurdity of the situation, she must admit that he's done a fantastic job, down the dark mole on her right hip and the post-Lenara stretch marks on her stomach.

"Am I really that skinny?" she asks herself.

"Yes." And Loki might be using her voice but when he snaps at her he sounds like himself. "Perhaps you should start eating more now that you are no longer a sleep-deprived ghost or not speaking to me."

"Turn around," Eleanor says, her fascination growing now. This is by far the most bizarre thing she's ever witnessed, but the chance to see herself from all these new angles is somewhat amazing. "Damn, my ass has never looked better. That's all Lenara."

"Yes, we’re ravishing, my dear," says Loki, making her grimace. He runs one hand through the blond, messy hair on top of his head, and slouches slightly, mimicking Eleanor's posture.

"I do not stand like that."

"You absolutely do." He walks around a little, the gait he uses more bouncy than his usual powerful stride. He twirls once to face her again and flaps his hands around his head, exaggerating the way Eleanor talks with her hands when she’s excited or flustered.

“Oh my god, you have to stop,” she says again.

Loki grins wickedly and goes back to studying her, gaze appreciative and calculating now. It is so fucking strange, because that is her face wearing a Loki expression. He’s going to have to put in some serious practice hours if he wants to pull off being her. Anyone who is paying attention will see Loki in the twisted grin playing around her lips.

“No!” she says, holding up a hand when Loki takes a stalking step towards her, his smile lascivious. “No way. This is not going to be a sex thing.”

“You’ve had no problem with altering genders in the past, my dear,” Loki reminds her with her own too high voice.

“I do not want to fuck myself, Loki. Shit.”

Loki huffs. “Fine. But it is your turn. With me away, when you are in public you must pretend to be me. So let’s see it.”

Eleanor shakes out all her limbs, pausing to frown at Loki for a moment when he mimics her mannerisms. Focusing again, she closes her eyes and pictures her husband from top to bottom; his dark, chin length hair tucked behind his ears, pale skin and sharp jaw, green eyes and the hollows of his cheeks, broad shoulders, tapered waist, legs that go on forever and perfect hands, all wrapped up in green and black and gold.

It’s illusion for her, not the physical change like Loki. She hasn’t learned true shape shifting yet and for her purposes this layer of magic that makes her look like Loki and talk like Loki will suit just fine. She needs to simply play a role rather than withstand unspeakable horrors like him.

When she opens her eyes again she appears to have grown a foot in height and it’s strange to look down at herself. Loki is staring up at her with her own face, looking like he is very much contemplating something completely filthy again.

“No,” she says. Her voice is a deep roll, but her pacing is off, far too quick and American accented and lacking the slow hiss. “No sex as each other. Loki, this is way too fucking weird, even without you being gross.”

He simply giggles, which is pretty fucking weird too.

“Of course you want to fuck yourself,” Eleanor says with an eye roll, trying to correct the discrepancy in her tone.

Loki shakes his head and reaches out to run his fingers down her forearm. The magic there ripples, exposing her own tanner skin and smaller hand.

“You really must work on that, darling,” says Loki. “Come, let’s invite Thor and Jane to our rooms for a nightcap. We shall see how long it takes for them to figure us out.”

Thor and Jane never figure them out, not until Odin wanders in through the secret passageway and immediately notices.

“You make an inferior Eleanor, Bloki,” says Odin, helping himself to a goblet of wine as Thor and Jane gape. “And Eleanor, you really must smile less if you want to pass for Blue.”

* * *

 

“Perhaps I should go and you should stay,” Loki murmurs in Eleanor’s ear, pulling her away from the group gathered in the Bifrost pavilion. Jane is holding Lenara, so ready to depart she bounces her leg. Odin has Vali on his hip while Heimdall teaches their son of the stars and far away galaxies. Peter Quill is pacing around, apparently as antsy as Jane, and Loki is not thrilled about his presence but the promise of this trip seems to have dulled his anger over being left behind as collateral.

“Does it really matter?” Eleanor asks, taking his hand. “If Odin is wrong and he didn’t actually manage to get rid of the part of the bond that only lets so much distance between us, it doesn’t matter who’s where. It’s going to hurt so fucking much, even if I stay and you go.”

Loki nods and frowns at his father. Although if anything Odin seems to be more aware of his magic and the magic around him since his accident, Loki still does not trust him entirely.

They spent hours last week in silent meditation while Odin held both their hands and hummed to himself. Nothing felt altered to Loki when Odin abruptly dropped their hands, called them cured, and bopped off to find supper.

“Look,” says Eleanor, stepping a bit closer and wrapping her arms around his waist. “We’ve got to test it sometime. Why not right now? I trust Odin. I really do.”

Loki lays his forehead against Eleanor’s and nods. She allows him to hold her for a few long seconds before pressing a kiss to his lips and slipping away to join Jane at the entrance to the bridge.

* * *

The distance between Midgard and Asgard causes no strain to the bond and Loki is thankful that this is one less thing to worry about, but he spends the day in a high state of anxiety. His entire family is on a different realm and Loki despises it, snapping at Neela and Thor and Gamora as an outlet until the assassin threatens him with bodily harm if he does not desist.  

“You’re completely unbearable without your family,” Gamora mutters when Loki agrees to behave himself. “Like a whole different person.”

It is perhaps the most pleasant thing she has ever said to him.

* * *

 

“Hush,” Eleanor whispers. She crawls beneath the covers, waking him in the process.

“You’re not due back from Midgard until sunrise,” he replies, turning on his side to properly press himself against her back. “Why’re you early?”

“The time difference was fucking the kids up,” Eleanor replies, relaxing back into his chest. “Quill’s still there. He and Steve are basically in love, which I didn’t expect, but Steve’s got all those lists he put together to try to catch up with ninety years of missed history and pop culture so he was showing Quill what he missed since the 80s. Did you know he hasn’t been back to Midgard since he got picked up by some space bandits in ‘88? When he was, like, ten. It was like a kid in a candy shop. He might stay there for days. Or at least until Darcy gets fed up and wants her boyfriend back.”

Loki is too tired to truly comprehend what his strangely verbose wife is trying to communicate, but it’s obvious that she is ranting about another man, which he does not like at all.

In response he simply grunts into the back of her neck.

For a few blessed minutes Eleanor is silent and Loki nearly succeeds in falling asleep once more.

“Do you think he’s my brother?” she whispers.

Again, it takes Loki a few long seconds for her words to penetrate his exhaustion.

“What?” he exclaims, horrified by the thought of being related in any way to Gamora’s deplorable pet.

Eleanor sits up and turns on a light. Loki groans and hides his face in a pillow.

“So he’s half-mortal and his mother always talked about his father like he was a super hero who had the voice of an angel, but Quill’s never met the guy. Apparently his dad was supposed to come get him but that never happened. And on Midgard Quill picked up a guitar for the first time since he was a little kid and he played a rendition of _Cherry Bomb_ perfectly from memory.”

She talks with a great speed and high pitch. It proves too much for this late at night.

“Eleanor—”

“And he was telling me that before he met Gamora he was all about the one night stands and no emotional attachments. Does that sound familiar? Meeting some murderous alien was the thing to get him to settle down.”

“Eleanor—”

“I mean, it’s just a few too many coincidences,” she continues as if he hasn’t tried to get a word in twice now. “The music and the sex and he kinda looks like Bragi, you know? All blond and strapping. What bullshit is that? That he got the tall genes and I’m cursed to a life constantly staring up at people.”

“Eleanor, you are really—”

“And just when Bragi got me thinking that he really loved Nina! What an absolute ass. Quill’s mom was dying of cancer and he still couldn’t be fucked to show up.”

She seems to have finally talked herself out and she turns to look at him, awaiting his verdict.

“This is all conjecture,” Loki says. “And it seems unlikely, but Bragi is not that skilled of a liar, least of all to you. Ask him, Eleanor, and you will have your answer.”

She frowns, sighs heavily, and turns off the light. After a few moments Loki finally finds himself back where he wants to be, spooned around Eleanor.

“Maybe I don’t really want to know,” she whispers.

“Then put it from your mind.”

“Or maybe I’ll wait until you get taken away,” she says, sounding on the verge of tears now. “It’ll be a nice distraction.”

“All right, Eleanor. Whatever you like.”

* * *

 

Gnawing on her lip, she stares intently at the crate on the floor and wishes she did not decide to wait up for her husband after she put the kids down for the night. Loki’s taken to disappearing after dinner to work away for a few extra hours with the Bizarro Guardians, Thor, and the few Asgardians in on the whole plan.

If she’d have just gone to sleep at a reasonable time instead of fighting to stay awake to get a proper goodnight kiss, she would not be currently staring at a crate and freaking out. Surely it would be better to do this staring and freaking out in the morning, on a full night’s sleep.

“Are you planning on saying anything at some point or would my time be better slept sleeping,” Loki asks from somewhere behind her position on the sofa where he’s been pacing for the last few minutes.

Eleanor pulls her legs up, hugging them to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. “I’m going to say something. Just not sure what yet.”

Loki sighs, the sound more resigned than annoyed, and joins her on the couch. His arm snakes around her waist and she turns towards him, away from the crate on the floor that holds a thing she hasn’t seen in a decade that is bringing back a whole boatload of bad memories that she certainly does not need right now, when her husband is on the verge of going back to the creature that gave him The Thing in the Crate in the first place.

“In all likelihood, you will need never use it. It’s more for my peace of mind than your actual protection, but I want you to be able to protect yourself to the best of your ability,” he murmurs in her ear, thumb rubbing her cheek.

“And you think this is the way to do it?” She shrieks a little, legs flailing out to kick the crate away.

“These are powerful creatures we are up against,” Loki replies, somehow staying calm despite her shrieking and flailing. “You should have a weapon equally powerful.”

“This thing nearly destroyed you, Loki!”

“No, that was the titan’s doing. And my own doing, also.”

His words give her a perfect opportunity to get into another fruitless argument about his plan to go back to The Void, but for once she lets the opportunity go, staying focused on The Thing in the Crate.

“You were, like, _addicted_ to it. I was there. I remember. I saw you all shaky and withdrawly in Stark Tower.”

Loki sighs again, this time with an added wince as he too remembers. “Just keep it close, Eleanor. Locked up and out of reach of the children, but close enough that you can summon it if need be. You know the magic.”

Eleanor goes back to looking at The Thing in the Crate, the infamous scepter with its wicked, curved blade that sharpens into a point around the glowing blue infinity stone. It’s a thing of nightmares, and simply staring makes her dinner sit uncomfortably in her stomach.

She drops to her knees, securing the crate’s lid closed and flipping all the latches so she doesn’t have to look at the scepter. Loki holds out a key and Eleanor locks it, a series of clicks ringing out as she turns it.

“You are no mortal,” Loki whispers. “Your strength and your magic will allow you to wield it. If need be.”

Eleanor’s hand closes around the key. “If need be.”

* * *

 

Eleanor spies on Peter Quill in the garden, messing around with the acoustic guitar she lent him when he got back from Midgard.  She hides behind a column and listens as he teaches himself more classic rock songs, seemingly from memory. 

Occasionally, when he fucks up and curses at himself, she peeks around the column, trying to see herself or Bragi in this stranger’s features.  He is tall and broad like Bragi, and all three of them share a nearly identical shade of blonde hair.  It is hard to ignore Quill's musical talent and his blue eyes.

The farcical tale of Bragi abandoning one child to be raised by mortals and the other to grow up with space pirates is probably all in her head, but attempting to figure out if she has a brother is far preferable to getting lost in her misery and fear.  She allows herself to be farcical, just for these few stolen moments.

"Eleanor?"

She squeaks and nearly trips over her own feet in her haste to get back behind the column, hidden from the fellow half-mortal.  When she turns she gets an eyeful of Loki, smirking at her with his arms crossed over his chest. 

He’s somewhere between amused and irritated with her spying, but he seems to recognize that her Peter Quill fixation is an odd coping mechanism and leaves her to it. 

Eleanor offers her husband a rueful smile.  "Hey," she whispers.  "Keep it down."

Loki rolls his eyes and wraps his hand around her elbow, marching her back up the stairs to their own balcony and away from the object of her surveillance. 

"Where are the children?" he asks as they come to a stop, both his hands on her shoulders now, attempting to rub away the tension he feels there. 

"Vali's at preschool," Eleanor mutters.  Her world might be falling apart around her ears and she hates to part with her son even for a few hours, but Vali is growing up and there is no reason to rob him of the opportunity to make friends with kids his own age.  "Lenara's down for her nap."  She shows Loki the little sphere in her palm that works as some sort of magical baby monitor.

Loki nods and wrings his hands.

"What?" Eleanor asks.  "Just tell me."

"It’s time," he replies.  "The plan is in place.  There’s no reason to dally."

Eleanor winces.  "Time to try to get kidnapped, huh?"

Loki nods and Eleanor doesn't even bother to fight her tears.

"I shall take one more full day, I think," Loki says as if he's just now come to this decision.  "Two more nights before I become you and start using the Bifrost in excess.  Just the four of us."

"Sounds perfect," Eleanor says, even though no version of perfect ends with Loki going back to The Void.

* * *

 

"Oh," Eleanor says, looking up from her book when her clone comes through the door.  "You're back."

Her twin just avoids slamming the door to their rooms and then shakes water from his hair before he shifts his body into that of her husband.  At her feet the kids perk up at the sound of the door from where they’ve been playing with building blocks at her feet, but thankfully furniture obscures the view as they are trying their best not to traumatize Vali and Lenny with glimpses of their father sometimes looking like their mother.

"No need to sound so disappointed to see me," he mutters, collapsing beside her on the sofa and then flopping over, his head in her lap. 

“Father!” says Vali, lurching to his feet and knocking over his tower in his haste to get to the couch. He takes hold of Loki’s face between both his chubby little hands.

“Good morning, Vali.” Loki’s greeting comes out garbled as Vali squishes his cheeks together.

It takes Lenara a bit longer to scoot towards the couch. She grips the cushions and pulls herself up to stand beside her brother.

“Da, Da, Da,” she chants.

The three of them have a very serious conversation about the progress of the construction on the floor. Eleanor watches, trying not to cry.

Eventually the kids go back to playtime with Loki promising to join them after he gets in a quick nap, settling his head more comfortably in her lap.

“I’m never disappointed to see you,” Eleanor murmurs. She reaches out to run her fingers through his hair, frowning down at him.  "If you’re going to get kidnapped and tortured before you kill this asshole, then I just want it to happen already. To get it over with."

"I know," Loki says with a sigh.  "This routine wears on me as well."

"It's been over three weeks!  I know we talked about it taking awhile, but this is absurd.  What do you even do all day on Midgard?"

"Doze, mostly.  Your friends are all convinced by my acting and think that it is you who joins them daily, but they are very obviously concerned by your presence.  They think we are on the verge of divorce.  Or that you need a break from motherhood.  Tony Stark seems to have figured out that something more is going on, but he refrains from asking."

"Smart guy," Eleanor murmurs.  "That Tony."

"Perhaps I’m approaching this wrong," Loki says, turning to lie flat on his back as he closes his eyes.  "We know from your dreams that he will take you, or me disguised as you, from the Bifrost, and so I thought the best way to achieve this would be to establish a routine of regular Bifrost use, but perhaps the titan waits for me to use a different bridge to a different world.  Or maybe three weeks is nothing to an immortal and he has yet to notice that the woman he seeks uses the Bifrost near daily."

Eleanor makes a soothing, noncommittal sound as she has no fucking clue what he should do.  The best way to get kidnapped quickly is not among the many things she knows.

"I can't believe I’m actively hoping you get kidnapped."

"I know.  Strange, isn't it?"

* * *

 

After playtime and breakfast, Loki sleeps. He sleeps through Vali’s lessons and Eleanor’s futile attempts to get Lenara interested in walking. He sleeps through a quick spy session on Peter Quill and a strained lunch with Jane, Gamora, and company. He sleeps while Eleanor watches the sun go down in the gardens as Odin chases his grandchildren between rows of flowers.

By now, after three weeks of Loki’s Try to Get Kidnapped Schedule, it’s routine.

Ten minutes before they’re expected to join the family in Odin’s tower for dinner, Eleanor pushes open the bedroom door. Vali giggles as he races towards the bed, struggling to climb up the too-tall mattress. Eleanor deposits Lenara on the bed before giving Vali the extra boost he needs.

This is the kids’ favorite part of the new routine.

They crawl on the lump of blankets that contains their father, giggling as Loki groans beneath. Vali digs around to free his father’s head from the blankets and Lenara cuddles into his side.

“Wake up, Father!” squeaks Vali.

“Up!” conquers Lenara.   “Up now!”

“I’m up,” says Loki with a laugh and a groan. “Heavens, am I up.”

They linger over dinner until Lenara drifts off in Loki’s lap and Vali’s eyelids get heavy. As they’ve done for the last three weeks, Loki spends a long time putting the kids to bed, saying goodnight when he really means goodbye because tonight he might get kidnapped and he might not make it back.

Eleanor wants no goodbye and needs no words.  Instead they've taken to spending hours tangled together naked, the bond between them humming.

As she has every night for three weeks, she struggles to stay awake until it is time for Loki to change his shape and leave, but she always drifts off first.

* * *

 

The routine becomes uncomfortably comfortable, until it's not.  

Before sunset after a routine day and a routine night, there is a knock on her bedroom door and Eleanor just knows.  What a fool she was, to think that the waiting was somehow worse.  Nothing is worse than this.

"Come in," Eleanor croaks out because suddenly she doesn't have the strength to get to her feet and open the door.

Thor enters first, looking grim and ancient.  He’s hated Loki's plan nearly as much as Eleanor, and he desperately wanted to go with the group of Einherjar tasked with helping Gamora destroy Sanctuary.  It was a two-day fight with Loki before Thor finally agreed that they could not leave Asgard without both kings.  Now he looks like he very much regrets the decision to let Loki go alone.

Jane is here too, wearing only a hideous, fuzzy Midgardian bathrobe.  Without a word she climbs into bed with Eleanor, assuming the position that will allow Eleanor to sob on her shoulder when Thor offers verbal confirmation of what Eleanor already knows.

"It is done," Thor whispers, voice rough and gravelly.  "He is taken.  So it has begun."

Sobbing all over the Queen of Asgard's hideous, fuzzy bathrobe is no relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I finally wrote the thing! So sorry for the long wait. Blame my wrists and my complete heartbreak that this is almost done! Letting go is hard and we've only got another chapter or two left.
> 
> For those of you that aren't done with Loki and Eleanor, I've already started an AU where they met on Asgard when Eleanor was a little kid. And yes, I know I've reached the point where I am essentially writing fanfiction off my own fanfiction.
> 
> Thank you so very much for reading!   
> And to the best of all betas, Heather and Erica.
> 
> Come say hi! jaxington.tumblr.com


	27. Light the Way

In the hidden space between worlds, a figure is suspended in the dark, naked and trembling. When fire bubbles the skin on her back, a scream wrenches from her throat.

And realms away, an identical woman wakes up screaming, utterly terrifying her children and still feeling the flames.

* * *

 

"Okay, baby one," Eleanor says, bending to pick up Lenara after getting both kids dressed and ready for the day. Not that it really matters as they will not be leaving Odin's tower until Loki gets home, but this morning routine is comforting. The kids give her a reason to get out of bed and Eleanor's trying to keep their lives as normal as possible, even if Loki's absence is wearing on them all. "And baby two," she says, opening her free arm for Vali.

Instead of jumping on the mommy train, Vali crosses his arms over his chest and frowns at her. "I'm not a baby, Mama," he informs her.

Eleanor smiles so real and wide. A very rare thing these days. "Well, of course you're not. You, my dear, are obviously a penguin!"

"Pen! Pen!" chants Lenara, clapping her hands against Eleanor's chest.

Vali giggles into his hands as Eleanor tickles his belly. "No, Mommy! I'm not a penguin. Those are birds on Midgard."

"Right, what was I thinking? Of course those are birds. And you are very much a horse."

"A horse!" replies Vali.

Lenara laughs hysterically, making what might be horse sounds.

"I'm a boy!" Vali insists as Eleanor tickles him. "I'm a boy!"

"Yes, indeed you are," Eleanor agrees, running her hand through his dark hair and kissing the top of his head. "You are my dear boy."

Vali nods solemnly. "Is Father back?"

And just like that all the air is sucked from her lungs. "No, not yet."

"But why not!" Vali asks, stomping his little foot. "He's been gone _forever_."

It has actually only been four long, painful days, but that might as well be forever given where Loki is right now. Vali's taking his father's absence the hardest, asking for him many times a day, but Lenara isn't sleeping right. She fights long past her bedtime to keep her eyes open as if she is waiting for her typical bedtime story from her dad.

When Loki successfully got himself kidnapped, Eleanor moved their bed to Frigga's library, even if sleeping is difficult. When she does sleep, it is restless and plagued by dreams. She’s woken up her kids too many times already and now they sleep with their grandfather. Strange as he is now, Eleanor is certain that Odin’s still capable of protecting his grandchildren better than she ever could.

"Mother," Vali says. "I'm hungry."

"Well, then get to stepping, kid," she says, nudging him in the direction of the staircase. “Left, right, left, right."

Vali hasn't quite figured out his left from his right yet, but he marches with her downstairs anyway.

Sif, Quill, and Odin are already lounging around the table, enjoying a leisurely breakfast. Sif appears to be sharpening a spear, Quill is strumming a guitar, and Odin is sketching. Quill is technically a prisoner and can’t actually leave, but Sif seems to have moved in on her own.

These three, along with Thor, Jane, and Sigyn are the only people who know that Eleanor was not actually kidnapped. She imagines the realm is mourning for her, angry and demanding something be done, but Eleanor cannot bear to find out the details. She's having a difficult time functioning as it is without taking on the guilt of lying to everyone. A-fucking-gain.

"Hey!" says Quill, waggling the guitar in her direction. "Teach me to play something."

This is a daily request and a perfectly fine distraction.

"Allow her to eat first, you fool!' Sif hisses before turning to Eleanor. Her expression is too soft, too gentle. "Please eat, princess. You've done nothing but nibble for days. A good meal will serve you well."

She rolls her eyes as she gets her family settled at the table.

Eleanor really tries to put on a good show, eating like a normal, non-terrified person would, but she still ends up nibbling.

The day passes slowly. Odin wanders off somewhere, declining Eleanor’s offer to braid his hair. Vali asks for Loki three times and pouts about Eleanor keeping him out of the Asgardian equivalent of preschool, but gets happy again when Sif hands him a wooden sword and lets him whack away at a dummy. Lenara occupies herself on the floor with a pile of toys, ignoring Eleanor as she tries to encourage her to take her first steps.

Eleanor fights to stay present, in this moment, focused on her kids instead of her husband.

Sometime after lunch, as Eleanor is indulging in her misery by staring mournfully out a window, Odin returns to the tower with Bragi trailing along behind him. The friendship between these two should not be so surprising, what with both of them being a little different brain-wise, but it always surprises her to see them whispering conspiratorially on the rare occasions that Odin sees fit to bust Bragi out of the White Cells.

"Daughter!" says Bragi, the moment the doors are shut behind him. He rushes across the room, throwing his arms around Eleanor. She sighs and pats his back.

"Hey, Bragi."

"Praise be!" he continues, taking her face between his hands. "You are not taken! They all told me he had you finally, the Mad Titan."

Eleanor winces, jerking her face from Bragi's hands. "Yeah, I should've came down and told you what was happening, probably. But it's not me. It's Loki."

"What a relief!" exclaims Bragi.

Eleanor and Odin both glare at him, but Bragi remains unaware of his insensitivity as he pats Eleanor’s hand and stares softly as his grandchildren, currently crawling all over Sif.

With half an ear, Eleanor listens to Bragi and Odin talk about bees, of all things. She lets Bragi hold her hand. Mostly she stares in the general direction of her kids and leans into the bond. She can’t feel anything distinct from Loki, as much as she searches and as hard as she pushes, but he’s too far away. Lost.

Not dead. She would know if he was dead. Just lost.

Quill appears from somewhere, the gardens probably, strumming his guitar. The kids get distracted from crawling all over Sif when Quill starts up with their favorite silly song Quill learned on a planet Eleanor’s never heard of.

“Son!” says Bragi, as if pleasantly surprised. “You’re so old. Oh, no.”

Everyone starts glancing around, from Bragi to everyone else. Quill stares at Bragi and Bragi grimaces, like a half-embarrassed little kid, nearly ready to bolt rather than deal with this situation.

“Ah,” says Eleanor, snapping her fingers and nodding. Her vague plans to distract herself with the possibility of Bragi having another kid were completely lost to her in her missing Loki haze. “I totally forgot about this.”

* * *

 

The enemy says Eleanor, girl, pathetic mortal whore, but the gendered names don’t sit right with the naked creature suspended in The Void.

Blood in the mouth, burns on the back, and it is not female pronouns that should be cause of concern as the Titan giggles in the dark, but gender distracts from the pain, even if it shouldn’t, even if it is nothing compared to terror and torture and no real knowledge of self.

There is the memory of existing as a man and there is the memory of existing as a woman and other genders, too, as well as no gender at all, but this Titan seems convinced that he speaks to a woman when deep within it is not the gender that he finds most comfortable.

He. _He_.

That’s it. That’s the one. He is a he. At his very foundation, _he_ fits. Although in the past he has become bored and wandered from this gender, it is what he will always return too. The he. Himself. He. Him. His.

He latches on to identifying as a man, even if he cannot find his own name.

This one fact, this one pronoun, is enough to anchor him in this body, and as painful as it is to be suspended in the dark, waiting for more torture, it is preferable to floating, detached from any sense of self.

He remembers this one thing about himself. He is a he, no matter what the Titan calls him.

Even the threatening little giggle from nowhere in particular is slightly less terrifying now that he knows he is a he.

His enemy hisses the name _Eleanor_ again, and although it is certainly not what he is called, the name is familiar. It resonates in his chest, heart beating _Eleanor_ , _Eleanor_ , _Eleanor_ , in three distinct syllables.

Eleanor is important. Perhaps even more important than knowing that he is indeed a he, but it feels like chasing wind. Thoughts, memories, visions all slip through his mind before he can understand them, leaving him with only the faint impression of too big blue eyes and an impossible voice.

The Void he remembers. With a sudden, painful clarity he remembers being here before, being unmade and remade. The physical torture was unpleasant and the loneliness was crippling, but the words whispered in his ear, confirming his every fear and every insecurity, broke him.

The words in his mind now, all centered on the frailty of the one called Eleanor, are not having nearly the same effect. He does not know who she is, but Eleanor is undoubtedly strong. The Titan has miscalculated, crafting the correct phrases to break Eleanor while he remains unmoved. Each sentence designed to devastate Eleanor is easily laughed off.

“He will not come, you know,” hisses the Titan. “You know your husband not, for the Loki you think you know does not exist. He remains my son and he cares for you not at all.”

The Titan continues, but he cannot hear past his own racing thoughts.

Loki. That is his name. Loki is his name and Eleanor is his wife. Vali and Lenara are his children. In one blur, his whole life returns to him, his whole self.

With the memories also comes his purpose.

He is here, masquerading as his wife, to kill the Mad Titan.

In the darkness of The Void, with cruel words whispered around him, Loki bites back a smile.

* * *

 

Bragi looks guilty. That’s something. When he ambushed her in New Mexico with all his cryptic, terrifying warnings, he wasn’t guilty. He strolled into her life like he had a right to be there, like he didn’t leave her mother to die and Eleanor to be raised ignorant of her heritage.

With Quill, he looks guilty.

The three of them sit there, all in chairs facing each other. Vali and Lenara are coloring on the floor at their feet, apparently oblivious to the tension.

“You knew?” Quill hisses to Eleanor, throwing an occasional glare at Bragi.

“Suspected,” Eleanor says, shrugging. She wonders if it’s too early for wine. The real danger there is that she would start drinking and never stop. “The whole half-mortal, your non-mortal father never showing up even after your mother died thing was a big clue. Plus the music.”

“Huh,” says Quill, slumping a little in his seat. “You coulda told me.”

“Forgot.”

“You forgot!”

“There’s been kinda a lot going on, okay?”

“Ah,” says Bragi before Quill can yell a reply. “The squabbles of siblings. Such a pleasing symphony.”

Eleanor and Quill share a look and silently agree to save all their yelling for Bragi.

“Look,” murmurs Eleanor. “He’s a shitty dad. It’s like, he cares in his own limited way, but can only focus on you if you’re right in front of him. If you’re not, he’ll get distracted. He’s selfish and completely undependable.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that,” Quill says, throwing Bragi a glare. Their father attempts a smile and shrugs.

“But he did once dance naked on the rainbow bridge for me,” Eleanor continues.

“Yes!” says Bragi, bouncing in his seat. “Yes! That is the reason for my current imprisonment.”

“What the hell?” mutters Quill.

“It was a diversion. A masterful diversion.”

“Why did you have to be naked?”

“He really didn’t have to be naked,” Eleanor says.   “One selfless act does not make up for a lifetime of neglect, you jerk. Just admit that you are a pretty shitty parent. Okay, Bragi?”

“Whatever you say, daughter,” he says, getting to his feet. “Son, it was a pleasure. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a white cell to return to where I will very selfishly rot away. Good day.”

He turns on his heel, and stomps over to the door, pouting the whole way.

“What the hell?” Quill mutters again when Bragi’s gone.

“He’s an ass. A very strange ass.”

“How the fuck does he even know who I am?” Quill asks, failing his hands around his head, obviously frustrated, pissed, and disappointed. Eleanor knows the feeling.

“He just knows things,” Eleanor replies, watching Lenara get crayon on the marble floor. “Might be a magic thing. He has prophetic dreams, probably has been keeping tabs on you your whole life. I’m pretty sure that’s what he’s done with me.”

“Wow.” Quill collapses back into his chair, shoulder slumped. “That guy is the worst.”

“Yup.”

“Like, really terrible.”

“Uh huh.”

“And you, like, hang out with him these days?”

“Yeah,” Eleanor admits, sighing. “He’s got good moments. And he’s great with the kids. It’s fine, that he’s in my life now, I guess, but I’m glad that without him I learned to make my own family. Seems like you learned that, too.”

Quill nods, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He runs his hands through his hair.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “I learned that too. And now the family I chose is with the family you chose, trying to kill the scariest asshole in the whole fucking universe while I sit here on my ass.”

“It fucking sucks,” Eleanor agrees.

“You’re not bad though,” says Quill. “Might be kinda cool. To have a sister.”

“Hey, back at you. I always wanted a brother.”

“Really?” asks Quill, perking right up like a golden retriever.

Eleanor laughs. “No. Not really. But you’ll do.”

* * *

 

The Void is quiet and Loki takes stock.

Although his mind is clear and his purpose restored, it is difficult to breathe past the pain. Every slight moment has the skin of his burned back stretching. Only the flayed flesh of his arms and chest matches the agony of his back.

He wastes valuable time collecting himself, meditating and gathering his magic until the pain is dulled enough to focus. In ten second increments he breathes and pictures Eleanor’s face, breathes and pictures Vali, breathes and pictures Lenara. It reminds him that he has not been away from them for eternities, but only a handful of days.

Sufficiently reminded of what he fights for, what he has to lose, he stretches out his fingers, feeling ice gather under his nails. The Titan sees all, so he keeps his face pained and exhausted and an identical copy of Eleanor’s as he feels out his magic. It glows warm in his chest just like his ice is cold in his hands.

And Loki knows he can succeed.

The wait is agonizing and Loki’s shaking by the time the Titan returns, whispering harsh words designed to break his wife. They have no effect on him, but the memories do. This place twisted him up once, but never again.

He waits for the perfect moment. _The teeth,_ said Gamora, over and over again. _Watch for the teeth. He will grin and even in the crushing darkness of The Void, his teeth will shine. And you will know where he is and just behind him, the tunnel. Your path out. Watch for the teeth._

Loki lets out a particularly pathetic moan, the sound hoarse and defeated. Just as Loki calculated, the Titan laughs and then grins, his teeth shining in the crushing darkness of The Void even as the world remains black around him.

“All your fault,” Thanos says, grinning wide with all his bright teeth. “For you, your husband will burn all. But first, I will burn you.”

Ice crystalizes over his skin. As his hands turn blue, the temperature around him plummeting, he lifts his head to flash Thanos a grin of his own. The invisible chains prove vulnerable to his frost and around him they crack, breaking away and leaving him free.

The blue speeds from his hands, up his arms, and as he changes color he also changes shape, deliberately shifting back into his own shape.

He still sees the shine of teeth, but they are not made visible by a grin but by an expression of open-mouthed shock.

“You!” hisses the Titan.

And Loki offers nothing but silence in reply. He continues to smirk as Tony Stark’s explosives materialize in his palms. Throwing his arms forward, ice shoots from his hands, taking the bombs with it and embedding them deep in the Titan’s chest, just below those shining teeth.

Instantly, they begin to burn as they burrow into Thanos’ body. The massive form of the Titan glows red before him, screaming, and finally the darkness of The Void is disturbed as the Titan collapses in on himself, his guts crumbling and his skin bright and burning before it turns to ash.

The last thing Loki sees before he throws himself into the tunnel once blocked by Thanos are the Titan’s teeth, the only thing to remain of Loki’s former tormentor.  

* * *

 

She sleeps for less than an hour before the screaming in her dreams wakes her. The sound still echoes in her head, even when she gets out of bed, needing to walk, needing to move.

She doesn’t think those screams were Loki’s. They were too high-pitched, too strange, but she can’t get them out of her head and it’s disturbing.  

The waiting is the worst. The not knowing what’s going on with her husband is the fucking worst.

Even wrapped up in one of Loki’s thicker tunics, she shivers. The night is balmy, but still Eleanor pulls the sleeves over her hands, cocooning herself as she tries to warm up.

There is nothing unusual about the night, but she’s on edge anyway, more so than she typically is after she gets woken by nightmares. A pit rapidly forming, Eleanor rushes up the stairs to Odin’s room, hoping with everything she has that her feeling of unease is just a result of exhaustion and fear. Hoping that it doesn’t come from anything sinister or dangerous.

She can breathe again when she gets through the entrance to Odin’s bedroom. In the very center of the massive golden bed sleep Lenara and Vali. Vali looks so serious when he sleeps, but Lenara’s mouth is parted, drooling slightly. Eleanor relaxes; they are right here, safe and sound. Able to find some peace.

Right next to the bed, Odin is sleeping in a chair. He’s got his staff propped up against the back, a sketchbook open in his lap. Eleanor gets a little closer, smiling slightly at the half drawn image of her kids asleep. She places the notepad on the end of the bed, covers Odin with a blanket.

She watches her children sleep for a long time, but even with this proof that at least part of her family is currently safe, Eleanor keeps shivering. The pit in her stomach does not shrink, but seems to be growing every moment.

Reluctantly, Eleanor leaves her kids, each step measured and cautious as she walks back down the stairs. On the floor just below the library where she’s been failing to sleep, Eleanor stops to peek in on the guest rooms.

Quill’s door is open, just a crack, and Eleanor looks in at the man who is apparently her brother. That fact should be more startling. She should be freaked out, or at least very angry at Bragi for being so fucking useless, but she doesn’t feel much of anything. Just a bit of that she isn’t the only half mortal, half Asgardian in the universe. And maybe a low simmer of gratitude that Quill is here, distracting her with music lessons and making her kids laugh.

He’s snoring peacefully now and Eleanor is envious of his ability to sleep.

Across the hall is the room where Sif and Sigyn have been sleeping. This door is wide open. Sigyn is asleep in the bed, but Sif sits near the door, slowly and quietly sharpening a blade.

“You should sleep, Eleanor,” she whispers.

“So should you.”

“I find it difficult, when others fight and I sit here, useless, powerless.”

Eleanor nods. “Well, you’re not useless. I’m glad you’re here. My kids are certainly safer with you around.”

Sif nods back, looking down at the weapon in her lap. “Sleep, princess. Not five minutes ago, I checked in with the nights guards. All is quiet. All is as it should be.”

“Okay,” Eleanor says, but Sif’s assurances do nothing to help with the dread swirling around in her gut.

Instead of going back up to the library and her bed, she goes down, to the main floor. She peers through the peek hole in the front doors, counting the four serious Einherjar stationed in the hall outside.

Trying to shake off her nerves as simply a byproduct of the screaming still in her head, she wraps herself in the illusion of Loki and steps out onto the balcony. There she pretends to be her husband and watches the Einherjar below make their patrol rounds.

There is nothing unusual outside, nothing unusual anywhere, not until she turns back around, heads inside, and sees the hooded figure across the room.

“Ah, there you are, coward,” it hisses, head twitching around, strange metal grate over its mouth glinting in the torch light. “There you are, failure.”

All training forgotten, Eleanor jumps in shock, squeaking and unintentionally jerking out of the illusion that makes her look like Loki.

The creature hums, slowly approaching, the sound almost like a laugh. “This explains it. He is so frustrated, that he has been unable to break the flimsy girl in The Void. So frustrated that her husband has yet to come. Sent me here to hurry along his wayward son, but there was no need. The coward has been in The Void the whole time, lying. Tricking. Of course.”

Eleanor backs up and the creature gets closer, doing her best to keep the space between them and to find her voice, to scream for Sif or the Einherjar just on the other side of the door. The mention of Loki has struck her silent.

“And the children,” says the creature, breathing in deep and tilting his head back, as if he can catch the scent of her kids. It makes her skin crawl. “The coward reproduced? How foolish. I will take them, but first I will take you.”

It lunges, crossing the distance between them with speed that defies everything the mortals think they know of physics. She has no time to think or breathe or scream. She simply acts, Loki’s scepter materializing in her hands just as the creature gets its hands on her shoulders. It’s his own momentum that drives him forward, the scepter’s blade cleanly through his chest.

The screech it lets out pierces her eardrums and there is sticky blood, hot on her hands, but she doesn’t let go of the scepter. She can’t let go of the scepter. Will never again let go the scepter, not when such power is surging through her veins. First she’ll slay this enemy. Then she’ll slay them all.

The creature stumbles forward and Eleanor falls back. When it lands on top of her, the scepter through its back, shining with black blood and glorious. Her fingers clutch the scepter and she doesn’t feel the dead weight of the creature she killed.

She stares at the blue gem cradled by the blade with wonder. In it swims galaxies, and Eleanor’s eyes go wide as she absorbs impossible knowledge, all flying through her head. Before her eyes she sees how to rule the universe, how to destroy it.

Her breathing picks up, harsh and loud in her ears, but even as she struggles to pull enough air to into her lungs, she smiles. She grins wide and manic, groaning as she feels every cell of power rush through her.

And then abruptly, a bearded old man is blocking her view of her scepter, her salvation, her power. Before she can protest the creature is pushed off of her, the scepter is torn from her hands, and the loss is so great that she immediately blacks out.

* * *

 

There are rocks at his back, sharp as they dig into his oozing burns.

For a moment the air is knocked from his chest from his hard fall to the ground and he doesn't really believe that his plan was successful, that he's out of The Void on his own volition rather than the Titan's benevolence.

Mere moments ago, he was watching with unrestrained glee as the Titan's body collapsed in on itself, his eyes melting from his skull and his flesh burning from the inside out, but now he is flat on his back, the rocks paining him just further confirming that he made it out alive.

When Gamora claimed with firm certainty that an exit to The Void would become visible with the obstacle of the Titan removed, Loki did not truly believe her, yet here he lies, writhing in agony but undoubtedly alive.

He did not confess even to Eleanor that freeing himself from The Void after destroying Thanos was the most fragile part of his plan and that he did not fully believe he would survive it, although he had no choice but to trust Gamora.

Trusting her was such a risk, but it's certainly paid off now.

Loki recognizes the bit of space around his speck of rock. Above him hangs the brilliant stars and a smoky purple nebula that once formed the background to his meetings with the Other, but now they spell salvation, for he made it out and he lives still, body and mind mostly intact.

Despite his flayed, burned skin and exhausted mind, Loki is jubilant, the weight on his chest lifted for the first time in a decade.

His laugh rings out into the quiet.

Soon, Gamora will destroy all of Sanctuary along with every minion of Thanos she can find, and Loki best not be on this rock when she does it. But for now he simply continues to laugh, reveling in this moment of victory until too much blood seeps from the cuts to his chest, the burns on his back, and the world goes blurry around the edges.

* * *

 

When she opens her eyes, the world is tinted faintly blue.

She blinks rapidly, struggling to sort through her muddled mind to determine who she is. Memories not her own, of wielding enough power to suck whole planets dry, sucking up life and absorbing their knowledge to get stronger and wiser.

She's seen all the secrets of the universe, all stuffed in her claustrophobic mind, too small to understand them.

Her veins are humming, demanding more. It is painful and nauseating and she blinks three more times before the blue clears from her vision, the roar of memories in her head quiets, and she remembers her own name.

"Eleanor," she wheezes out through her dry throat. With her name, it is easier to hold on to her own memories; Loki eating ice cream with blue lips, Lenara banging on a tambourine, Vali's face the first time he called her Mommy.

Her mind wrenches in two as she rejects everything now in it that's not hers, visions of giant beings destroying words, grinning as Loki's eyes are taken over by toxic blue, hands wrapping around a stone to understand every star and nebula.

"Fuck," she mutters, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing the heels of her hands into her temples.

"Eleanor?" There is a gentle hand on hers and the touch makes her skin crawl, but her name coming from someone else helps her wrangle the memories that are truly hers.

Taking a deep shaky breath, she tells herself that she is a mother, musician, wife, sister, not a power-hungry, homicidal tyrant bent on making the whole universe kneel.

Even with her mind mostly sorted, the humming in her veins demands she get up, find the scepter, wrap her hands around that stone, so she can steal souls, identities, knowledge, killing at random just to prove she can.

"Eleanor?"

She opens her eyes, and the world's not quite so blue.

The face peering down at her is beautiful and familiar. If Eleanor could only get her hands back on the scepter, she could know everything the woman above her knows. She could take her mind or sink her blade into her heart and it would be divine, the greatest pleasure she's ever known, better than every fuck and every drug.

"Sigyn," Eleanor croaks and saying the name dissipates the urge to hurt her, to take from her. This is Sigyn, master healer and dear friend. She is her own person and Eleanor has no claim on her mind or her body, even if her veins ache for it.

"Hello," says Sigyn, tearing up slightly. "Welcome back. You had us so very concerned."

"Sorry," Eleanor mutters. Her mind is becoming a significantly less terrifying place, but her body just feels worse, skin clammy and crawling, head pounding, stomach rolling, heart racing, veins throbbing. "What the fuck happened?"

"You slayed the Other," Sigyn says, laying a cool cloth on Eleanor's feverish brow. It provides little relief. "He managed to infiltrate Odin's tower and you drove a blade through his heart."

Eleanor shivers, remembering now how sure she was that she would die, and the surge of power as the scepter materialized in her hands as she fell back. Even with the Other dead, she remembers her eyes burning blue.

"Oh," she says, exhaling. "My kids?"

"They are safe with their uncle and aunt, but miss their mother dearly," Sigyn says, starting up the soul forge and scanning Eleanor as she speaks. "It's been days."

"How many days?"

"Four."

"Did they see me like that?" she whispers, shuddering. In her memories, she was more terrifying than Loki at his very worst in the bunker and she can't stand the thought of scaring her children.

"No," Sigyn says, voice gentle as she continues her checkup. "They slept soundly through the brief affair, although they've been in to see you everyday. Vali understands that you are sick, but Lenara seems rather annoyed that you would not open your eyes."

Eleanor's laugh rattles her chest painfully, making her wince.

"I imagine you are quite uncomfortable," continues Sigyn. "It is as if the power in the scepter has infected you, but it is fading now."

"Withdrawal," Eleanor murmurs, remembering all those days in Stark Tower with Loki confused and shaking. She held the scepter for less than five minutes and it hurts to breathe without it, but Loki had it for months and months. It’s a miracle he didn't die.

"The term used on Midgard to describe the effects of drug detox?" Sigyn asks, glancing away from her soul forging for a moment. "Yes, it is an adequate comparison. I do not believe there will be any lasting damage, but it will be some time before you are feeling well. I'm afraid you will feel quite unwell, actually, although I can put you to sleep again."

Eleanor shakes her head and it's dizzying. "No. Don’t do that."

"I have potions for the pain, but I believe it will only dim it rather than eradicate it."

This Eleanor agrees to, and the pain is a bit easier to bear before she even finishes drinking.

"Loki?" she asks, realizing that anything could have happened in four days. Four days in The Void is an eternity.

"There's been no word, princess," says Sigyn, pushing Eleanor's hair off her forehead "Neither good nor bad."

Eleanor nods and tries not to cry.

"Would you like to see the children?"

"Yeah," says Eleanor, closing her eyes. "I really, really would."

* * *

 

A slap across his cheek, delivered from a tiny, leathery palm, rouses him once more.

"Rise and shine!" says the furry creature filling up his vision. "Dude, you are naked as hell."

"Rocket," says Gamora from somewhere Loki cannot see. "Give him room to breathe."

Loki groans, his joints aching in protest as he attempts to sit up. The dried blood stuck to the rock beneath his back pulls painfully and it takes all his energy to keep from screaming as his skin breaks free from the rock.

"Oh, shit," says the raccoon, scurrying around to get a good look at the ruined, bubbled flesh of his burned back.

"Can you stand?" asks Gamora, kneeling before him now. There is a bloody gash spanning her cheek and her armor no longer shines, but she appears in much better condition than Loki. He glances up to see her companions loitering behind her. The tree is missing an arm, although that appears to be re-growing and Drax has burns on his shoulder, but on the whole they are remarkably unharmed, given Thanos is dead.

Gamora and Drax pull him to his feet, but his legs nearly give out. They support him as he hobbles back to their strange little ship. With his last bit of strength, he pushes his victory towards Eleanor, across the bond and the universe, hoping he conveys all his relief and none of his pain.

* * *

 

She comes awake slowly. Outside the world is still dark, and Eleanor takes stock of her surroundings. Sigyn let her come back to her own bed in Odin's tower yesterday, even if she couldn't really manage to stand and walk here on her own.

She’s in Frigga's library now, safe in bed with Vali to her left and Lenara to her right.

There is nothing out of place, not even that prickle of fear that slithered up her spine in the moments before the Other made his presence known. She is not scared, so what was it that woke her up despite the sleeping draught Sigyn gave her?

Her chest grows warm and it takes her a few moments to realize that the bond is flickering weakly. She's never felt it so dim before, but Loki is there, screaming out his relief across the universe. It comes in blurbs, punctuated by exhaustion and pain, but Loki is clearly alive and letting her know.

Hot tears roll down her cheeks, and she tries to reply, to send back her own relief and all this love, but she's too tired, too sick, and instead she just drifts off to sleep.

* * *

 

Lying on his stomach with his eyes closed, he concentrates all his magic on the wounds from the Titan's fire, where his skin was burned off layer by layer. It is far from his gravest injury to date, but that does not make it any less painful. With every breath, he sends a wave of magic over his back, and the sting is great as his skin stitches back together.

The doors to the little metal box where Gamora dumped him after cleaning his wounds slide open, disturbing his meditation and making his magic fizzle out. He is injured enough that his magic is elusive, difficult to hold onto, and this interruption just makes it worse.

Opening one eye, he watches Gamora lean against the doorway, tossing a familiar sphere from hand to hand.

"Your Asgardians successfully kept the majority of the minions of Thanos contained to Sanctuary when it was destroyed," she says. "They were clear of the blast and will be meeting up with us in several hours to continue the journey back together."

"Good," Loki says with a grunt, struggling to sit up on the bed. He stretches out his sore legs and doesn't let his bare back touch anything. It's somewhat of a shock, realizing that for the first time in recent memory there is no Titan lurking, no Sanctuary left for Loki to be dragged back to and forced once more into servitude.

"That's a handy trick," she says. "Healing yourself."

"Yes."

"I contacted your king," Gamora continues. "Your brother. He is very pleased, although it seems they had a bit of incident several days ago."

Alert now, he sits up even straighter, grimacing as his damaged skin pulls. "What happened?" he hisses.

"Your wife killed the Other," she says, grinning. "An impressive feat, for one so tiny and weak."

"She what! Is she unharmed? What of the children? How did the Other manage to get anywhere near them? Eleanor is not _weak_!" His distress undoes an hour’s worth of healing and he feels his back ooze.

Gamora laughs at his sudden terror. She tosses him the sphere and he catches it easily, although the rattle it sends up his arm to the recently healed skin there is painful.

"Ask her yourself."

* * *

 

In the morning, she drags herself out of bed and takes a few unstable steps to a lounge across the library. She plucks a cold sphere off the shelf and holds it in her lap, patiently waiting for her husband to get his shit together and make the call. That’s what the bond is telling her this morning. That Loki is struggling with the magic to operate this high tech phone.

It's not long before the imprints of her fingers on the sphere glow orange and she slots her fingers into the spaces, answering the call like Loki taught her.

With a click and a whirl, the sphere transforms into a flat screen, hovering before her, and there's her husband, staring back at her for the first time in almost two long weeks.

For a few minutes they just stare at each other, Eleanor weeping and smiling, Loki drinking her up like he needs her to breathe.

"You look awful," he whispers.

Eleanor cracks a smile. "Back at you, sweetheart. Are you alright?"

"The Titan is dead. And the skin on my back is healing as we speak."

Eleanor's weeping turns into full-on sobbing. She hides her face in her hands, shoulders shaking as she relives every dream where she watched the Titan melt the skin off Loki's bones or felt it done to herself.

"Eleanor, please," Loki says. "Do not cry. I cannot bear it. Please, let this be a moment of triumph."

She takes a deep breath and forces herself to calm down. "Okay. I just hate what you had to do there, Loki. I fucking hate it."

"It's all over now, my love. Really, truly over."

Eleanor grins, trying to believe it. The enormity of what Loki did is going to take some time to sink in.

"What happened? You killed the Other?" Loki demands, his voice rising.

"Shush!" Eleanor hisses as she shudders at the memory. She turns the screen around, letting Loki get a good look at the two little lumps half hidden under the blankets, their children sleeping peacefully in bed.

"They are unharmed?" Loki murmurs when she turns the screen back to face her.

"They are perfect," Eleanor assures him. "Healthy and happy, but they miss their daddy.”

"Father," Loki corrects absently, back to drinking up her words and her face. "How do you know they miss me?"

Eleanor rolls her eyes. "Because Vali asks where you are constantly and Lenara takes forever to fall asleep, waiting for you to tuck her in."

"Oh," he says, looking a bit like he might cry himself.

"I love you so fucking much," she says.

"And I you. Now, what happened with the Other? You must tell me. Immediately."

She skimps on the details as she tells him, seeing Loki's rage growing.

"He never should have gotten so close, Eleanor! How did he manage to get into Odin's tower, the most ancient and protected place in the whole of the realm? This is my brother's doing. We discussed the possibility of the Other coming for you countless times and still he let it happen. I shall kill him the moment I see him," Loki says, fists bunching in his lap.

"Okay, calm down," Eleanor says, rolling her eyes just a bit. "You can't control everything, Loki. That's why you gave me the scepter."

Loki grimaces. "You used it, then?"

"Yeah. It kinda fucked me up. Like, majorly. And I only held it for a minute or so. How the fuck did you keep it for so long?"

"If you recall, it majorly fucked me up also," Loki murmurs.

Eleanor smiles, never over the novelty of Loki cursing.

"You look awful," he says again. "Your skin is grey. And sweaty."

"Likewise," Eleanor says, grinning. "We're a goddamn mess."

"But we won the war."

A few minutes later, Vali stirs. He slips out of bed and struggles to climb into Eleanor's lap. She's too weak to help him, but he makes it, settling with his head on her chest. He babbles happily at Loki, trying to reach out to touch his father and frowning when his hand meets the screen.

They relocate to the bed when Lenara wakes up, pretending that Loki is really here, rather than just an image on the screen.

Eleanor's family distracts her from her nausea and crawling skin and from the call of the scepter, whispering, singing in her veins from somewhere in the weapons vault for her to touch, to take, to rule worlds.

But her personal world, the two kids snuggled into her sides and the man light years away, watching them softly from this screen, is safe and happy and whole. It is enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone out there still reading this story after months and months with no update: You are the best and I love you I love you I love you.
> 
> This is the last real chapter. There might be a very short epilogue. But given how long it too me to write this, it might be awhile. 
> 
> THERE WILL BE AN AU! In which Loki and Eleanor meet when Eleanor is a little kid and her father brings her to Asgard as a kid. It's going to be up so soon, as I finished it months ago when I was stuck with this chapter.
> 
> Heather and Erica are the best betas and you are the best readers. Thank so very much.


End file.
